1»>«W«I>JH 


/ 


(,'^T.'^"^ 


'BtiaiTir 'a^' 


The  Chatelaine. 


^^11  libro  del  Perche 

stampato  ancor  non  e/' 


Che  Ptter  Paul  Bo«k  eompany 

Baffalo,  new  York 

i$97 


^\\^ 


Copyright,  1897 
by  G.  E,  X. 


Printed  and  bound  by  The 
Peter  Paul  Book  Company 
in  Buffalo,  New  York. 


1>oId  on,  hope  hard  in  the  subtle  thing 
Chat's  spirit;  though  cloistered  fast,  soar  free. 


—ROBERT  BROWNING. 


A  pONNA,-Ia  cara  Donna 
mia,— commands  mc  to  fetch 
her  a  chatelaine:— ^not  one  of 
those  housewives*  devices  jin- 
gflingf  with  scissors,  needles,  keys, 
But  one  made  up  of  countless 
chains,  of  countless  lengths,  some  of  them 
mere  links  of  a  chain,— and  all  to  have 
depending:  from  them  anhangsels,  ikons, 
crosses,  crescents,— symbols  all,  charms 
all/'  Such  her  command.  Surely  it 
were  a  simpler  thing  to  build  for  la 
Donna  mia,  a  shrine,  — or,  for  her  carve 
a  prie-dieu; -hut  it  is  a  chatelaine  — she 
would  have— a  chatelaine,  hung  with 
signs  and  symbols,  christian  and  heathen: 
these  to  be  gathered  from  all  lands; 
and  among  them  she  will  find  one  — 
some— the  which  to  hold  between  her 
hands' palms.  Her  hands'  palms! -that 
sounds  like  prayer.  Such  her  will:— I 
obey:— and  pray  la  Donna  mia  to  be 

my  Cady  of  the  Chatelaine. 

to  whom,  on  bended  knee,  I  offer  this  her 
command, 

Cbe  ebatelaine. 


Mth  February,  1897. 


HEN  work  IS  entered  upon  for 
a  loved  object,  the  mind  pur- 
sues the  tracks  of  light  with 
no  common  pleasure,  and 
makes  over  the  result  of  its 
labor  without  reservations  or  gradations, 
since  less  than  all  could  not  satisfy  a  mind 
so  inspired. 


T  is  amongf  the  pleasant  truths  of 
Friendship  that  it  is  not  required 
to  give  security,— corresponding  to 
bonds  in  the  commercial  world,— 
but  it  is  its  privilege  to  offer  evi- 
dences, the  charm  of  which  is  their  sim- 
plicity* A  leaf,  a  flower,  and  Friendship 
has  the  better  thing  than  bonds. 


10 


WALLOW-WINGED  fs  Love, 
sweeping  the  lake  with  wing:s  of 
delicious  joyousness  and  makingf 
between  earth  and  sky  fascinat- 
ingf  flights.  .  .  .  Eagle-wingfed  is 
Friendship,  making  by  ever  ascending 
circles  its  rock-high  eyrie,  from  whence, 
with  wings  pinioned  for  any  storm,  it 
makes  its  flights,  as  secure  in  the  blast  as 
does  the  swallow-winged  in  the  breeze. 


HERE  are  no  natures  so 
beautiful  as  those  which, 
like  to  sacred  vestments, 
retain,  however  worn  in 
service  or  desecrated  by 
mutilation,  their  rich  design,  mas- 
terful execution,  soft  coloring* 

Note. — The  embroidered  ■wonders  may 
be  seen  for  a  shilling  in  the  churches'  ward- 
robe rooms. 


12 


ET  the  sense  of  feeling; 
be  but  fine  enough, 
and  the  wonder  will 
cease  that  a  princess 
there  was  who  could 

not  sleep  because  of  a  rumpled 

rose  leaf  in  her  pillow. 


IS 


There  are  too  many  threads  woven 
into  soul-life  for  the  shuttle  to  have  been 
in  any  hand  but  His  who  weaves  the 
eternal  destinies. 


14 


HERE  is  in  Nature  an  audible 
silence^— a  silent  noise,— that  is 
the  only  acceptable  accompani- 
ment to  thoughts  that  are  as 
sensitive  to  the  jar  of  social 
silence  as  to  its  noise. 

"Then,— round  me  the  sheep 
Fed  in  silence— above,  the  one  eagle  wheeled  slow 
as  in  sleep." 

^^It  was  a  holy  hush,  a  warning  that 
heaven  was  stooping  low  to  whisper  some 
good  thing  to  the  listening  earth/^— and 

**  Once  more  the  string 
Of  my  harp  made  response  to  my  spirit." 


16 


EE  to  it  that  Opportunity  weaves 
a  woof  fine^  and  that  Purpose 
embroiders  it  fittingly,— and  thus 
wilt  thou  possess  a  veil  as  suited 
to  thy  soul^s  holy  of  holies  as  that 

which  shut  the  inner  from  the  outer  court 

in  Jerusalem's  great  temple. 


16 


Beware  of  building  an  altar,  **To  the 
despaired  of/^  Hope  will  waste  none  of 
her  fire  upon  such* 


Any  board  is  a  festal  board  if  at  it  we 
drink,  with  another,  the  wine  of  life. 


17 


T  is  well  that  the  lines  of  some 
lives  are  cast  in  the  open,  indif- 
ferent as  they  are  to  the  conven- 
tional, caring  only  for  the  full, 
strong  air  of  life*  To  such,  soci- 
ety living  wo^ld  be  a  tormenting  yoke, 
and  like  the  untamed,  caged,  creat- 
ures of  the  mountains,  they  would  ever 
be  pining  for  the  succulent  bit  of  stalk 
among  the  rocks.  So  perfectly  is  the 
natural  born  in  bone  and  blood  of  them, 
that  it  seems  the  dead  and  gone  is  incar- 
nate, toned  only  a  trifle  by  latter-day 
conditions.  How  they  love  it  all:— the 
hills  and  forests!— and  the  crunch  of  the 
leaves,  noTv,  under  their  feet!  Savage? 
Yes,  in  their  untamed  love  of  the 
mountain's  majesty,  of  the  plain's  beauty, 
of  the  sea's  grandeur,  of  the  desert's  si- 
lence!    Nature's  love  unchangeable. 


18 


HE  secrets  of  the  violet  and 
the  rose  do.^readily  reveal 
themselves  in  mod  flats 
where  the  warmth  of  dear 
old  mother  earth  is  extinct, 
and  the  wonder  is  that  they  blos- 
som at  all. 


19 


HERE  are  words  of  which  every 
letter  holds  a  mystery;  and 
though  there  is  a  key ^  we  do  not 
always  care  to  use  it,  since  for 
the  sake  of  the  sense  of  joy  there 
is  in  the  unexplored,  we  would  not  repeat, 
in  its  entirety,  any  one  sentence. 


20 


THE  PURPLE  GALLERY, 


HEN  the  dust  and  heat  of 
the  way  begin  to  dull  the 
brain^  and  an  almost  fatal 
inertia  overtakes  it,  wander 
into  The  Purple  Gallery, 
breathe  its  atmosphere,  and 
turn  the  leaves  of  book  and  book;  not  for 
study  but  for  the  sake  of  being  borne 
along  on  winged  words  through  the  days 
and  to  be  floated  on  the  dreams  and  fan- 
cies of  them  into  the  oblivion  of  night.  A 
close,  snug  place  this  Purple  Gallery, 
with  corners  into  which  any  dreams  will 
fit,  any  moods  find  sympathetic  touch. 
Here  the  spirit  rules:  and  here  the  brain 
wakes  to  the  heroic  or  sleeps  in  dreams, 
whichever  chances  to  be  the  ^^ sweet  will** 
of  it. 

A  book  ties  open  .'-the  eye  follows  a 
line  and  the  ear  hears  the  soft  notes  of 
some  sweet  singer,-a  wail,-a  chant,- 
a  song  coming  out  of  the  distance ;  thrill- 
ing with  its  sadness,  comforting  with  its 
sweetness. 

A  Book  lies  open  .--its  pages  half  hid- 
den  in  obscurity,  that  obscurity  which 


21 


"proceeds  from  the  profoundness  of  the 
sentences;  containing  contemplation  on 
those  human  passions  which  are  either 
dissembled,  or  not  commonly  discoursed 
of ;  and  do  yet  carry  the  gfreatest  influ- 
ence amongf  men.  An  obscurity  come  of 
that  strong  individuality  which  subtil- 
izes, rationalizes,  concentrates,  —  which 
crowds  the  use  of  words,  and  thinks  more 
than  words  can  express.  Sentences,  full 
stored  with  meaning,  and  words  sen- 
tences.^^ 

The  eye  follows  the  page,  and  the 
brain  wakes  to  the  heroic.  A  new  world 
is  discovered,  and  Thought  the  courier  of 
it.  No  longer  is  the  will  subject ^  but 
ma5/er,— sovereign  supreme!  A  Viking 
is  watching  from  his  ship's  prow  the  sun 
chase  the  mists  from  the  mountain's 
side,  disclosing  to  him  the  place  of  the 
buried  gold.  The  ship's  prow  strikes  the 
shore,— the  Viking  walks  along  the  shelv- 
ing bank,— at  a  turn,  the  bank  breaks 
away  and  a  rock,  cold  and  hard,  juts  out, 
—  the  way  ends.  A  rock,  cold  and  hard, 
but  wearing  a  crown  of  superb  life  ;~a 
tall,  straight  pine,  that  tosses  its  head  in 
feathery  fullness  against  the  sky,  and  with 
its  roots  overspreads  the  rock's  hardness. 
The  Viking  questions,  What  kind  of 
an  affinity  is  this?  Why  a  form  so 
splendid  in  itself,  should  thus  cling  to  a 


22 


rock:— a  thing  througfh  which  the  warm 
throb  of  life  never  passed  ?  Law  ?— what 
law  ?  The  book  lies  open*  Here  is  a 
life  that  had  failed  in  the  attainment  of 
its  possibilities  unsupported.  The  soft, 
yielding:  earth  had  failed  to  raise  it  sky- 
ward, or  to  bring:  from  it  those  g:entle 
qualities  that  made  the  rock  beautiful  as 
a  thing:  of  life :  and  thoug:h  the  rock  felt 
not  the  warmth  of  those  cling:ing  roots,  nor 
the  pine  a  response  to  the  pulse  of  its  life 
currents,  a  law,  beneficent  in  its  exac- 
tions, was  fulfilled.  The  gold  is  within 
the  Viking:^s  grasp ! 

A  book  lies  open:— send  from  the  page 
a  cry  of  pain  comes  through  the  Gallery's 
silence.  "Oh,  why  should  the  great 
Creator  shatter  one  of  His  most  admi- 
rable works?  If  the  order  of  the  sun 
and  the  stars  is  adorable,  if  the  law  by 
which  earth  and  sea  are  governed  man- 
ifests the  Hand  of  Supreme  Wisdom  and 
Power,  how  much  greater  than  these 
the  perfection  of  beauty,  as  manifested  in 
man.  And  here,  a  soul,— rich  in  gifts, 
rich  in  attainment,  placed  in  a  form  sur- 
passingly lovely,  and  this  form  so  surpass- 
ingly beautiful  in  its  union  with,  and 
subordination  to  the  soul,  as  to  be  almost 
the  soul's  true  expression:  yet  this  choic- 
est, rarest  being,  this  rarest  specimen  of  the 


23 


Almighty^s  skill  He  has  pitilessly  shat- 
tered, in  order,  that  it  may  inherit  a 
higher  and  eternal  perfection!  O  mys- 
tery of  mysteries,  that  heaven  may  not 
be  obtained  without  such  sacrifice !  And 
the  awful  mystery  remains  to  that  day 
when  all  things  shall  be  made  light/^ 
Love,  here  had  laid  a  parting  benediction 
upon  *^the  head  of  the  beloved  and  gone 
on  his  way  in  rapturous  sorrow/'  crying, 
singing,  oh, 

**  Heart  of  my  heart,  when  that  great  light  shall  fall 
Burning  a-way  this  veil  of  earthly  dust, 
And  I  behold  thee  beautiful  and  strong, 
My  own  true,  perfect  angel,  w^isc  and  just  — 
If  the  strong  passion  of  this  mortal  life 
Should  in  the  vital  essence  still  remain. 
Would  there  be  then,  as  now,  some  cruel  bar 
On  w^hich  my  tired  hands  shall  beat  in  vain  ? 
Or  shall  I,  draw^n  and  lifted,  folded  close 
In  eager  asking  arms,  unlearn  my  fears. 
And  in  one  transport,  ardent,  w^ild  and  sw^ect. 
Receive  the  blessings  of  the  endless  years  ?  " 

Crying,  singing,  till  the  great  light  shall 
fall! 

A  book  lies  open;  — and  through  its 
pages  run,  what 

**  Was  the  site  once  of  a  city  great  and  gay." 

The  spirit  is  fascinated  with  the  story 
of  its  vanished  greatness  ;  by  its  vanished 
gayety  appalled.  There,  on  the  level 
length  of  hill  run  the  broken  ramparts  :— 


24 


so  broken  that  the  lizard  scarce  finds 
shelter  from  the  blaze  of  the  sun  that 
scorches  and  sears  the  forsaken  land,  butt 

**  Such  plenty  and  perfection  see,  of  grass 

Never  was  1 
Such  a  carpet  as,  this  summer-time,  o'erspreads 

And  embeds 
Every  vestige  of  the  city,  ........ 

Oh  heart !  oh  blood  that  freezes,  blood  that  burns! 

Earth's  returns 
For  whole  centuries  of  folly,  noise  and  sin  I 

Shut  them  in. 
With  their  triumphs  and  their  glories  and  the  rest  I 

Love  is  best.'* 

A  book  ties  open/  — and  all  the  Gallery 
is  suffused  with  a  light,  warm  and  glow- 
ing. The  eye  glances  down  the  page, 
and  the  brain  feels  unmeasured  charm  in 
that  art  which  has  here  hung  a  morning- 
like mist  about  word-pictures,  to  soften 
lines  too  realistic  and  to  enhance  their 
beauty  by  a  beautiful  half-concealment. 
Poetic  art  here  disposes  of  words  with 
skill  as  consummate  as  that  which  an 
artist  of  the  brush  employs,  when  he 
drapes,  without  concealing,  the  beauty  of 
his  model.  In  this  art  there  is  no  need  to 
transfer  a  story,— the  charm  of  which  is 
personal,— into  the  impersonal,  and  there 
to  manipulate  the  'verve  poeiique  out  of 
it ;  but  here,  draped  with  all  delicate  af- 
fluence, it  retains  its  own  wealth  of  indi- 


25 


viduality,  so  that  minds  alike,  whether 
ethereal  of  material  are  charmed:— 
charmed  with  that  poetic  decorum  which 
handles  a  delicate  subject  with  that  high- 
bred delineation  which  is  the  true  beauty 
of  all  art.  The  ever  softening  light  in 
the  Gallery  reveals,  yet  more  and  more, 
the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  pagers  senti- 
ment,—the  wonderful  beauty  of  thoughts 
that  breathe  and  of  words  that  burn,— of 
pauses  as  eloquent  as  the  sentences !  Like 
rich,  picturesque  tapestry,  the  story  has 
been  fashioned  upon  a  woof  almost  coarse; 
for  such  woof  lends  itself  to  masterful, 
dramatic  representation  just  as  did  the 
hempen  stuffs  to  the  needle-poets  of  the 
middle  ages.  Ah !  those  courtly  dames, 
who  with  soft  wools,  and  here  and  there 
a  shimmering  thread,  stitched  pictures 
wherein,  thou  gh  we  see  a  spasmodic  rou  gh- 
ness  in  natures  otherwise  fine,  the  poetic 
delineations  are  through  and  through  suf- 
fused with  that  uniform  coloring  which 
gives  to  every  sentiment  an  underglow  as 
pure  as  it  is  rich  I 

o^  book  ties  open;  — and  the  eye  follows 
a  fine  line  down  the  page's  margin  to 
where  a  thought  is  set  aside,— a  trysting 
ground  for  two !  Companionship  grows 
close.  Here  is  granted  the  privilege  to 
take  large  outlooks  into  the  intellectual 


26 


and  spiritual  livingf  of  another.  The 
privilege  to  see  its  possibilities,  to  feci  its 
experiences,  its  meanings,  its  realities. 
And  through  the  gleam  and  splendor  of 
these,  to  see,  with  no  uncertain  distinct- 
ness, a  personality,— comz  here,  into  The 
Purple  Gallery,  to  establish  a  companion- 
ship;—a  companionship  independent  of 
conditions  or  circumstances.  From 
henceforth  these  are  to  see  through  the 
same  window,— from  henceforth  to  wor- 
ship at  the  same  shrines— /rom  henceforth! 
From  henceforth  to  feel  the  infinite  charm 
in  discovering  how  hidden  is  life,— hidden 
in  its  openness  under  the  very  light  that 
makes  bright  its  noonday  of  social  en- 
trettens:— to  feel  the  infinite  charm  in 
discovering  how  it  speaks  its  own  lan- 
guage, enjoys  its  own  joys,  seen  and 
not  seen,  lives  alone  and  not  alone. 
"Why  so  difficult  the  recognition  that 
makes  such  companionship  possible? 
"Why?  There  is  one  heard  to  answer, 
"The  continual  deceptions  imposed  upon 
us  by  society,  called  manners,  politeness, 
consideration,  make  our  entire  life  a 
masquerade,^  wherein  **  Love  itself  dares 
not  to  speak  its  own  language  or  main- 
tain its  own  silence.^  Here,  in  The  Purple 
Gallery,  all  this  masquerading  ends. 

Gjmpanionship  grows  close:— the  best 
of  two  lives,  the  dross  of  neither,  coalesce 


27 


and  make  an  opalistic  virtue^— a  gem  in 
its  own  figfht,— wherein  all  the  scintillat- 
ing fifes  of  love  are  safely  fused  with  and 
into,  the  white  light  of  friendship.  A 
gem  to  be  worn  upon  the  brow  as  upon 
the  heart* 

A  book  lies  open  /—and  the  spirit  rules! 
Dreamily  a  white-wonder  of  a  cloud 
floats  across  a  narrow  strip  of  sea:— and 
the  morning  paints  her  ensign  on  the 
vanishing  darkness.  Nearness  grows! 
The  old  and  the  new  troop  into  that 
hidden  place  where  Life  abides!  The 
cramped  and  confined  conditions  of  ex- 
istence,  are  gone.  From  across  the  nar- 
row strip  of  sea,— over  book  and  book,— 
nearer,  nearer,— till  the  ear  catches  the 
clear  notes  of  the  old  Persian  singer,— 
singing,  come 

**  "With  me  along  the  strip  of  herbage  strown, 
That  just  divid^  the  desert  from  the  sown— 
Where  name  of  Slave  and  Sultan  is  forgot,— 
A  book  of  verses  underneath  the  bough, 
A  jug  of  wine,  a  loaf  of  bread— and  Thou 
Besi^  me  singing  in  the  wilderness  — 
Oh,  w^ildemess  w^ere  Paradise  enow  I 

Wander  on,  through  The  Purple  Gal- 
lery:—a// Me  ^00^5  tie  open,— and  adown 
their  pages  bloom  the  snow-white  lilies 
of    prayer,— the    blood-red     poppies    of 


dreams.   The  same  life:— the  same  hope; 
—the  same  want:— 

**A  jug  of  wine,  a  loaf  of  bread— and  Thou^ 

**  Into  the  'wilderness  Love  went  in  search  of 
Love— and  lost  himself/' 


29 


HE  wind^  the  rain,  and 
the  sunshine  permeate 
Nature,  c/arc^  und  dutch  t 
and,  with  a  minute  and 
delicate  tenderness,  help 
her  to  develop  her  beauty,  until, 
its  perfection  warrants  some 

**  Wind  of  the  summer  mom, 
Tearing  the  petak  in  twain, 
"Wafting  the  fragrant  soul 
Of  the  rose  through  valley  and  plain,** 

to  that  demesne  in  which  the 
Summer  has  failed  to  fulfill  the 
promise  of  the  Spring ! 


30 


HEN  one  beingf  holds 
in  completeness  the 
imag;ination  of  an- 
other, no  third,  from 
whatsoever  point  of 
the  compass  he  may  enter,  will 
be  able  to  cast  a  shadow  thereon. 


31 


HERE  are  possessions 
that  sleep,  as  it  were,  in 
one's  bosom,  and  are 
constantly  testifying  to 
their  nearness  by  being 
oftenestinone'sthougfhts*  When 
these  thoughts  lead  to  acts  they 
are  the  fullest,  the  freest,  and 
ought  to  be  the  best;— with 
thought  widening  and  deepen- 
ing as  time  goes  on* 


O  thoughts  make  their  own  en- 
vironments^ or  do  the  environ- 
ments make  thoughts?  Try 
turning  the  leaves  of  Thought 
to  the  rhythm  of  mighty  winds^ 
wherein  the  very  pauses  are  filled  with 
the  thunder-notes  of  a  coming  storm! 
Try  turning  them  to  the  softer  ways  of 
Nature^— where  the  land  ripples,  like 
water,  away  from  the  hills  to  lose  itself 
in  those  grassy  dells,  to  which  the  morn- 
ing breezes  come,  riding  on  a  witchery  of 
white  cloud  and  from  which  they  steal 
away  with  the  perfume  of  the  dells!  Try. 


**  Sweet  imaginings  are  as  an  air, 
A  melody  some  Avondrous  singer  sings.' 


34 


**  But  thoughts  are  free  and  visions  play, 
Free  as  the  air  this  Autumn  day  — 
Yet  what  they  are,  I  will  not  say." 


**  *Tis  better ;  then  the  silence  grows 
To  that  degree,  you  half  believe 

It  must  get  rid  of  w^hat  it  knows 
Its  bosom  does  so  heave." 


Thoughts  there  are  he  will  not  say, 
Locked  in  his  heart,  from  the  w^orld  away : 
None  quite  worthy  on  whom  to  bestow— 
No  w^onder  that,  for  this  I  know^— 
If  the  thoughts  that  swell  w^ithin  his  breast 
Are  as  fond  and  true  as  those  expressed 
The  life  that  shared  them  blest  w^ould  be 
As  a  ship  safe  in  from  a  storm-tossed  sea. 

/  hear  a.  refrain  !  it  is  floating  a'way  ! 

Snueet  refrain  of  the  thoughts  that  he<wittnot  say! 

A  temple  there  stands  on  Amo^s  banks, 
A  thing  of  beauty,  no  other  ranks : 
Angels  dw^ell  within  its  dome 
To  cheer  and  comfort  hearts  that  roam, 
And  when  wailing  notes  from  lifeVharp  come 
They  quickly  render  the  tune  once  sung. 
Ah  I  sw^eet  notes  come  back  from  angels  among 
And  life's  harp  is  his,  his  again,  restrung ! 
The  refrain  comes  back,  nor  floats  it  anvalj, 
cAndmine  are  the  thoughts,  that  he  Hvill  not  say. 

From  that  day  to  this,  from  the  world  hid  away 
In  the  innermost  deeps  of  my  soul,— shall  I  say?— 
Is  this  harp  that  I  cherish  w^ith  fondest  care 
Lest  a  chord  be  broken  beyond  repair. 
So  gently,  so  softly  the  breath  of  a  sigh 
Sw^eeps  over  this  harp,  to  my  soul  so  nigh, 
That  I  cry  in  my  joy,  '*  O  stay !  O  stay  I " 
Sweet  refrain  of  the  thoughts  that  he  will  not  say. 


35 


I 


FANCY  there  are  a  g-ood  many- 
people  unconsciously  repeatingf 
the  mistake  of>  .  ♦  ♦  chopping: 
down  all  the  native  g-rowths  of 
life,  clearing:  the  ground  of  all 
the  useless  pretty  thingfs  that  seem  to 
cumber  it,  sacrificing;  everything;  to 
utility  and  success.  We  fell  the  last 
green  tree  for  the  sake  of  raising;  an 
extra  hill  of  potatoes ;  and  never  stop 
to  think  what  an  ugly,  barren  place 
we  may  have  to  sit  in  while  we  eat 
them.  The  ideals,  the  attachments- 
yes,  even  the  dreams  of  youth  are 
worth  saving.  For  the  artificial  tastes 
with  which  age  tries  to  make  good 
their  loss  grow  very  slowly  and  cast 
but  a  slender  shade.^ 


36 


F  men  could  judge  their  fellows  on- 
influenced  by  the  atmosphere  in 
which  circumstances  compel  some 
to  live^  then  might  opinion  set  it- 
self in  high  places.  Surely  it  is  a 
pity  there  is  not  a  social  Tattersalls  where 
the  intentions  of  the  knave  and  the  ac- 
tions of  the  ignorant  might  be  so  circum- 
vented that  men  would  receive  the  rib- 
bons for  which  their  qualifications  entitle 
them.  And  is  it  not  time^  O  Theoso- 
phist,  that  the  soul  of  Saint  Philip  Neri 
be  reincarnated  to  this  end?  That  he 
who  was  *^ strict  in  essentials,  indulgent 
in  trifles;  and  who  possessed,  in  a  remark- 
able degree,  the  acuteness  necessary  to 
distinguish  the  peculiar  merit  of  every 
character ''  might  be  umpire  in  a  question 
so  vital  that,  in  settling  it,  he  would  earn 
the  right  to  another  star  for  his  saintly 
crown. 


HERE  are  who  for  a  very  lit- 
tle of  Ophir's  gold  take  to 
the  shallows,  and  there  are, 
who  leaving:  all  the  gold  of 
Ophir  behind  them  strike 
through  the  breakers  and  with  a 
courage  that  turns  every  drop  of  the 
surging  waters  into  crown  jewels, 
throw  the  life  line  aboard  some  rud- 
derless craft. 


38 


HE  wondrous  charm  of  an 
amiable  and  versatilely- 
gifted  nature  is  that  it  keeps 
the  door  of  its  spirit  so  on 
the  latch  that  the  gfentlest  of 
breezes  suffices  to  swing  it  wide 
enough  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Arcadia 
within,  or  mayhap,  wide  enough  for 
entrance  quite,  when,  lo,  we  see  how 
it  is  that  "  the  streamlet  in  the  woods 
is  full  before  the  dove  alights  to 
drink  at  it,  the  flower  in  the  grass 
expanded  heiotc  the  butterfly  comes, 
the  grapes  ripened  in  the  sun  before 
they  are  plucked  for  wine/* 


HERE  are  minds 
that  easily  enough 
lead  captive  all 
minds  that  arc 
above  the  thrall- 
dom  of  charms  personal,  be- 
cause such  think  freest, 
love  broadest,  feel  deepest* 


40 


IVINATION  only  can  answer 
what  purpose  is  served  in  the 
transplanting;  of  the  animal  and 
vegetable  kind  to  that  hig;her 
sphere  where^  presumably^  there 
are  no  animals^  as  such^  and  no  vegfetables; 
and,  divining  power  being-  earth-limited, 
there  is  only  the  opinion  to  offer  that 
these  will  feel  as  awkward  on  hearing 
the  chant  of  praise  intoned  to  the  High- 
est, as  they  now  do  when  it  is  said,  "Let 
us  pray.'*  And  what  would  the  sweet- 
spirited  Fra  Angelico  do  did  these  invade 
his  saintly  abode?  It  is  safe  to  guess 
that  he  would  paint  for  them  Circe's  isle, 
and  in  a  charity  dear  to  him  as  to  them 
bid  them  turn  to  tastes  and  instincts  con- 
genial. 


41 


Splendid,  friendly  billows,  that 
toss  two  swimmers  so  far  sky- 
ward that  they  catch  sight  each 
of  each  and  recognize  I 


42 


Laugh  I -because  a  soul  would  shrink 
From  quenching  its  thirst  where  the  world  takes 
drink? 


Aye,  lips  that  are  moist  with  the  soul's  pure  wine 
With  thirst  would  parch,  sooner  than  sit  down  to 

dine 
At  the  table  of  kings  where  other  wine  flowed, 
And  the  love  of  earth's  greatest  is  freely  bestowed. 

I  joy  to  confess  it— with  rapturous  glee  — 
And  hold  high  the  flagon,  dear  soul,  unto  thee. 


43 


NTHUSIASM  is 
not  an  antique  to 
be  numbered  and 
catalogued  for  a 
museum  collection, 
but  a  charming  flower 
bursting-  into  bloom  at 
thought  of  the  sun,  at  touch 
of  the  sun,  and  in  remem- 
brance of  the  sun. 


44 


N  instant !  It  is  only  a  measure 
of  time,  not  at  all  a  gfauge  of 
force.  An  instant  suffices  for 
memory  to  spring  back  to  a 
loved  and  ever-to-be-revered  re- 
cess. In  an  instant  can  be  recalled  a  pas- 
sage of  life  which  may  have  formed  its 
turning;  point.  An  instant !  There  is  an 
eternity  of  power  in  an  instant.  It  was 
in  an  instant  that  an  angel  crossed  the 
path  of  the  wayfaring  Jacob  and  left  him 
with  such  a  blessing  that  straightway  he 
regarded  the  very  ground  thereabout, 
sacred.  The  place  of  the  struggle  with 
his  celestial  visitant  was  thenceforth  to 
him  as  a  spot  in  heaven,  and  his  memory 
bore  a  deeper  mark  of  what  there  took 
place  than  either  the  ground,  or  the  stone 
which  he  there  set  up  to  mark  it  withal. 
The  instant  goes,  but  that  passage  of  a 
life  the  gauge  of  whose  force  is  not  in  the 
measure  of  time  allotted  to  it  abides. 


45 


THROUGH  THE  MISTS  OF 
SCOTLAND. 


EAUTIES  wild  as  those  of  Nor- 
way, gentle  as  those  of  Eng- 
land, are  lovers  in  Scotland,  and 
most  enchantingly  bohemian 
in  their  ways  where  they  meet 
and  celebrate  their  beauty- 
betrothal  :  for  no  shy  English  lassies,  in 
kirtle  green,  ever  danced  reels  with  such 
witchery  of  grace  as  that  which  the  syl- 
van beauties  of  England  display  as  they 
come  dancing  over  the  border  to  join  the 
Highland  laddies  at  the  foot  of  their 
mountain  fastnesses.  And  here  it  is,  at 
these  bewitching  festivals  of  hill  and  plain 
that  the  mists  produce  effects  so  splendid 
and  mysterious;  veiling  Nature  in  dis- 
solving hues  of  emerald,  sapphire,  ame- 
thyst, and  giving  to  hill  and  dale  a  weird, 
supernatural  dimness.  Through  these 
mists  bold  precipices  grow  shy,  and  mod- 
estly recede  into  cover  of  the  heather- 
grown  hills;  noisy  streams  silent,  and 
steal  away  into  the  seclusion  of  the  glens, 
while  these,  in  turn,  slip  coyly  through 
some  opening  and  lose  themselves  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains.  But  push 
through  these  misty  veils,  or  see  them 


46 


gathered  into  the  embraces  of  the  morn- 
ing; sun,  and  the  bold  precipice  will  have 
lost  none  of  its  boldness,  the  noisy  streams 
none  of  their  noise,  and  the  glens  will 
show  how,  in  their  seclusion,  every  rill 
gathers  courage  and  becomes  "impetu- 
ous little  ladies^'  that  stop  not  at  rock- 
choked  channels  nor  at  granite  precipices, 
but  throw  themselves  in  or  over,— free 
Scots,  every  one.  Sometimes  it  chances 
that  one  of  these  finds  herself  come  among 
the  docile  life  of  some  bit  of  meadow  land 
where  she  may  no  more  than,— with  a 
decorous  caprice,— cut  it  into  fantastic 
shapes  and  glide  with  murmurs  prayerful 
around  the  quiet  circle  drawn  to  enclose 
withal,  a  sanctuary  for  the  deer  of  the 
forest;  then,  under  cover  of  birch  and 
pine,  out  and  away  again  to  join  the  wa- 
ters of  the  Dec,  singing  the  while : 

**  The  Pine  is  king  of  Scottish  woods, 
The  queen  ?    Ah  I  who  is  she  ? 
The  fairest  form  the  forest  kens, 
The  bonny  Birken  tree." 

Or  sometimes,  such  "impetuous  little 
lady^'  loiters  under  these  same  pines  and 
birches  to  persuade  the  mosses  and  ferns 
to  a  more  demonstrative  display  of  their 
pretty  charms,  inducing  them  to  come  out 
from  their  snug  nurseries,  and  join  vines 
and  lichens  in  their  hearty  clambering 


47 


among  the  rocks:  or  sometimes  all  this 
merrymaking  stops  and  the  ^^  little  lady^ 
is  held  in  durance  by  the  frost,  until  the 
stag,  that  monarch  of  the  forest,  comes 

**  to  break  with  his  foot,  of  a  morning, 
A  drinking-hole  out  of  the  fresh  tender  ice 
That  covered  the  pond  till  the  sun,  in  a  trice. 
Loosening  it,  let  out  a  ripple  of  gold. 
And  another  and  another,  and  faster  and  faster. 
Till,  dimpling  to  blindness,  the  wide  water  rolled." 

Aye!  bonnie  land  of  mists  and  myths 
mysterious,  of  lochs  and  mountains  in- 
finite, of  shires  where  wild  and  gentle 
beauty  keep  unending  tryst,  well  may  a 
poet-lover  sing  of  thee, 

**  beloved  are  thy  mountains,— 
Round  their  w^hite  summits  though  elements  war : 
Though  cataracts  foam  'stead  of  smooth-flowing 
fountains, 
I  sigh  for  the  valley  of  dark  Lochnagar." 


48 


ITH  a  clear  in- 
stinct of  true  art, 
a  firm,  free  brush 
PJ  ought  to  be  able 
to  bring;  out  Na- 
ture's every  glow,  however 
the  darkening  clouds  enveil 
it. 


rsnnv 

■9B« 

E 

J 

49 


ITCH  yoor  tent  by  the 
river^s  side,  and— if  yoo 
must  —  gffope  your  way 
through  the  dull  reach- 
es of  gloom  that  settle 
alongf  its  course,  but,  shut  not 
your  eyes  to  the  far  stretches  of 
beauty  to  be  seen  on  the  up- 
lands and  througfh  the  sky  line's 
rent. 


60 


XPLANATION,  illustra- 
tion, of  what  use  these  to 
the  mind  that  recognizes? 
Or  to  the  mind  that  does 
not  ?  Superfluous  to  the  one, 
to  the  other  useless,  conveying',  as 
they  do,  to  a  dull  understanding; 
nothing  more  than  a  dull  knowledge, 
to  recognition  nothing  to  enhance 
recognition* 


51 


It  would  indeed  be  a  Siberian- 
like  existence  not  to  find 
warmth  on  the  hearthstone  of 
Remembrance. 


52 


There  are  no  ideals  too  fine  to 
live  with,  but  a  host  of  them 
too  fine  to  be  realized.  Were  it 
not  so,  all  human  dramas  would 
end  in  joy. 


63 


m 


AYS  one,  "Fatal  to  happiness  is 
the  combination  of  a  penetrating 
intellect  with  a  heart  which  feels 
acutely  the  truths  which  that 
intellect  lays  bare/'— but  this  is 
supposing  that  the  heart  has  feeling  for 
unhappy  truths  only,  otherwise  a  pene- 
trating intellect  could  but  intensify  the 
heart's  feelings. 


54 


The  §fift  of  discernment  gives 
to  its  possessor  no  joy  equal  to 
that  of  discerning;  the  balance, 
measure,  and  rhythm  of  some 
one  soul. 


55 


QUICK  imagina- 
tion loves  a  de- 
lightful sugges- 
tion as  a  sculptor 
the  foughhewn 
stone  in  which,  at  a  glance, 
he  sees  the  splendid  thing  it 
will  yield  to  his  chisel. 


66 


KING. 


One  crossed  the  border 
Of  the  Land  of  Dreams :  nor  stayed, 
But  bent  his  steps  to  -where  a  temple  — 
Half  removed  — stood  by  the  margin  of  a  lake, 
Alone. 

With  hand  outstretched 
To  ask  by  gentle  knock  admission,- 
As  humblest  knight  might  do,— 
When,  softly  on  its  hinges,  swung 
The  temple's  door,  ancf  there, 
"With  downcast  eves  and  timid  grace 
One  questioned,  **  Why,  Sire,  for  entrance  ask? 
Dost  thou  not  wear  the  signet  ring  ? 
And,  art  thou  not  of  m  this  land  and  temple. 

King?"  ^ 

Then  answered  he,  —  with  look  most  reverent, 
E'en  pleading,  grown,— 

**  'Tis  true. 
Fair  Lady,  that  I  wear  the  signet  ring : 
But  come  I  here  in  quest  of  crow^n ; 
No  king  is  wholly  king  till  he  be  crowned." 
Then  she,  with  changing  color  on  her  brow  and 

cheek, 
**  And  is  it  so  that  yet  thou  dost  possess 
No  crown? -and  that,  the  one, -the  one,— 
Just  there -beyond-"  :(and  pointing 
To  a  veil,  a  shimmering  veil. 
Which  like  to  that  between  the  outer  and  the  inner 

court 
Of  Solomon's  great  temple  hung)  — 
^'Beyond  — is  thine?  .  .  .  Thy  crown  to  wear ? " 
Then  he,  w^ith  joy  of  answered  searching, 
"Thou  say'st  'tis  there  ?-  Thou  .  .  .  say'st .  ,  . 
Just  there  —  beyond  ? 


57 


"Wilt  lead  me,  Lady  fair  ?  .  .  .  , 
My  arm  about  thee,— so :— not  for  support  — 
But  to  make  sure  that  thou  indeed 
Art  leading  me.    Thou  I  .  .  .  So,  see,  I  follow ! 
See, .  .  .  See  I  —  I  walk  w^ith  thee  I  .  .  .  . 
And  all  thy  flow^ing  draperies  of  filmy  lace 
Clinging    and    shaping    themselves    to    thy    soft 

motion !  — 
Ah  I  what  king  ever  trod  his  way  to  throne 

Like  this  I 

Look  up,— mine  own,—  look  up  into  mine  eyes— 
Ah  1— 'tis  true  I— 'tis  true  I— I  seel— Seel  — 

Thine  eyes !  — 

So  wondrous  deep  1— Down 
In  their  liquid  deeps  I  see,— thy  soul  I  — 
Thy  very  soul  1     What  see'st  thou  in  mine  ? 
My  soul,  or,  thine  ?— Thou  canst  not  tell  ? 

Nor  L- 

But,  ah,  thine  eyes  1— "What  wondrous  eyes  1 
Look  on  I— Art  leading  me  ?  or,  dost  thou  follow? 
.......  What  matter,— mine,— look  on  I  . .  , 

Look  on  !  —  Take  not  thy  hand  from  mine  I  .  ♦ . 
....  The  veil?— Aye,  true:— yet  not  thy  hand 

alone  1  — 
See,— thus  in  mine,— in  mine  I— Together  1 " 


The  veil,  soft,  shimmering. 

Fell  to  place  again. 


58 


It  would  be  graceless  ingfrati- 
tude  in  him  who  has  found  joy- 
to  fail  to  make  rejoicings  and 
to  invoke  blessings. 


59 


O  be  in  a  position 
that  exempts  one 
from  the  results  of 
circumstances  ex- 
traordinary, is    to 

enjoy  a  royal  reprieve  from 

discipline. 


60 


T  is  only  now 
and  then  that 
we  may  cut 
through  the 
gordian  knot  of 
things;  for  the  most 
part  we  must  with  pa- 
tient fingers  untie  it. 


61 


N  emergfencies  nature  is 
too  swift  in  its  actions  for 
tlie  cooperation  of  the 
more  or  less  deliberate 
will,  and  so  commits  that 
**  worse  than  a  crime,  a  blunder.^ 
Bat,  it  is  thus  that  experience  is 
gfained. 


T  f s  a  brave  spirit  that  can 
go  on  livings  among  the 
tatters  and  rags  of  other 
men^s  doings.  To  such  a 
spirit  there  is  a  wonder 
side^  a  sort  of  mosaic^  wherein  if 
one  bit  is  somber  another  is  full 
of  color ;  and  so  the  Master's  de- 
sign is  made  perfect. 


F  70U  may  not  be  spared 
from  the  orchestra  in 
which  you  have  signed  a 
life  contract,— not  for  one 
hour  spared,— how  are 
you  not  to  hear  the  dissonance 
when  your  associates  play  out 
of  time  and  tune  ?  In  that  most 
beautiful  of  the  Saint  Cecilias 
she  listens  to  a  chorus  that  she 
sees  not,  in  the  air  above. 


64 


HE  necessary  in  most  de- 
partments of  life  over- 
laps and  even  effaces 
the  contingent^  and  un- 
der the  rulingf  of  this 
autocratic  tyrant  beautiful 
wishes  and  strong  desires  are 
alike  helpless  to  serve  the  crea- 
ture man,— unless  it  be  at  inter- 
vals, when  he  is  allowed  to  come 
to  the  surface  for  one  refreshing 
breath* 


65 


T  was  up  among  the  fastnesses  of 
the  Grampians^  where  "the  winds 
had  been  so  tempestuous  that  the 
eagles  had  forsaken  their  nests/' 
that  we  began  wishing  for  the 
softer  ways  of  the  south  wind  and 
dreaming  dreams  of 

—a  far  away  land^ 
A  land  of  glory  and  shimmering  sand, 
Where  soft  are  the  nights  and  clouds  unseen, 
The  land  of  the  Pharaohs,— the  land  of  our  dream  I 

But  we  dreamed  not  that  that  wind,  so 
tempestuous,  would  follow  us  down  from 
Scotland's  hills  to  make  "  weather  **  in  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  gather  force  among  the 
Spanish  Sierras,  and  toss  us  with  as  little 
ceremony  as  it  had  the  eagles  from  their 
nests,  into  the  very  Bay  of  Algiers.  Sure- 
ly no  old  pirate  of  these  seas  ever  intro- 
duced his  captives  to  this  beautiful  bit  of 
water  with  a  courtesy  so  rude  as  this  of 
our  north  wind,  and  most  surely  no  cap- 
tive of  them  all  ever  greeted  the  freeboot- 
er's harbor  with  such  delight.  Algiers!— 
the  pearl !  The  Arabs  are  fond  of  com- 
paring this  gem  of  their  country  to  a  dia- 
mond in  an  emerald  setting,  but  the  fig- 
ure impoverishes  the  richness  of  a  scene 
that  is  soft  and  warm  with  life  and  throb- 
bing with  the  fulness  of  life.  .  .  .  The 
emerald  green  of  the  hills  does  not  hold 


66 


this  whfte^  gflistening  AI§ferme  ^em  as  a 
setting:  its  diamond,  but  allows  the  g-em 
to  sink  into  the  soft  g-reenness  as  g-race- 
f  ully  as  an  anemone  into  the  gfreen  waters 
of  the  sea.     **  See  the  Bay  of  Naples  and 
die "  is  a  proverb ;  See  Algiers  and  her 
bay  and  (I've!  is  a  troth.     Live  to  climb 
the  terracelifce  ways  of  the  hills'  far  tops 
and  look  away  to  the  foot  of  the  Atlas 
mountains   that  lie  beyond  the  verdant 
plain  of   the  Metidja,-Iive  to  wander 
from  mosque  to  villa  that  hide  themselves 
in  the  sylvan  recesses  on  the  gfentle  slopes 
of  the  Sahel,— live  to   loiter   about  the 
roadways  that  overhang:  the  sea  at  one 
point,  and  are  at  another  lost  in  forest 
recesses,— live  to  lie  upon  the  shell-strewn 
beach  that  stretches  between  the  sea  and 
those   gfardens  of   palms   and   aloes,   of 
orang:e  and  lemon, -gardens  Arcadian, - 
that  make  of  Mustafa  Superieur  a  para- 
dise spot,-Iive  to  drift  back  by  starlight, 
from  Cape  Matifou  through  twelve  miles 
of  water  liquid  gold, -yes,  live  to  see  all 
this  and  more,  in  a  land  where  Nature 
wears  that  marvelous  yasmacfc  which  is 
made  by  the  mists  of  the  sea,  the  blue  of 
the  sky,  the  radiance  of  the  sun,  the  soft- 
ness of  the  stars;  and  which  makes  of 
her  a  beauty  truly  ra-vissante.     Through 
this  shimmering  veil  we  had  our  first  vi- 
sion of  Oriental  beauty,  and  in  the  light  of 


67 


that  vision  our  little  boat  weighed  anchor, 
stood  out  to  sea,  and  spread  her  sails  to 

Skirt  the  shores  of  that  sea  most  fair,— 

To  drink  the  sweet  fragrance  that  filled  the  air,  — 

To  rock  safe  at  anchor  within  the  bay 

Where  Carthage'  proud  queen  gave  shelter  one  day 

To  the  ships  of  a  lover,— faithless  he 

As  the  waves  that  drove  him  in  from  the  sea. 

Then,  aw^ay  to  the  land  where  no  cloud  dw^ells. 

And  again  the  sails  the  full  breeze  sw^ells. 

Oh,  rapturous  life,  beyond  compare  I  — 
Fill  the  cup  brimming,— a  bounteous  share. 
And  drink  to  the  life  and  the  love  of  to-day 
As  we  sail  toward  the  Nile-land,  the  Nile-land 
away  I 


EEP  faith  with  pretty 
traditions,— imagine 
veiled  beauty  to  be  all 
that  it  appears,— super- 
latively beautiful,— and 
the  unveiled  reals  of  the  Occi- 
dent will  be  transformed  into 
something  like  the  veiled  ideals 
of  the  Orient. 


69 


N  Eastern  legfend  tells,  how  when 
Paradise  faded  from  earth  a 
single  rose  was  saved  and  treas- 
ured by  an  angel,  who  gives  to 
every  mortal,  sooner  or  later, 
one  breath  of  fragrance  from  the  immor- 
tal flower,  one  alone. 

I  thought  all  roses  perished 

With  the  paradise  that  went, 

Nor  dreamed  an  angel  cherished 

With  one,  the  dear  intent, 

To  some  day,  sooner,  later,  give 

The  heavenly  breath  and  bio  me  live. 

I  breathed  that  one,  that  one  alone. 

Life-breath  by  angel  given,— 

And  heard  the  -words,—**/;?  shall  a.tone 

For  all  thou'st  lost  and  stri'ven." 

The  angel  spoke  blest  w^ords  to  me : 

I  listened,  looked,  and,  lol  'tw^as  thee! 


70 


Imagination  paints  all 
portraits,  that  it  loves, 
miniature  fine. 


TALY  has  no  more  shrines  at 
which  to  pray^  no  more  saints  to 
whom  to  pray  than  has  a  nature 
which,  Italy  like,  glows  in  a  glory 
of  light  and  color  in  the  morning 
of  desires  and  languishes  in  a  soft  radi- 
ance in  the  evening  of  their  setting.  To 
such  a  nature  the  ideal  possesses  a  charm 
as  potent  in  the  fading  radiances  as  in 
the  glowing  ones:  and  its  prayers  being 
not  less  idealistic  at  the  shrine  whose  light 
shines  dimly  through  the  gathering  mists, 
its  fervor  is  not  less  than  when  it  knelt  at 
that  one  whose  every  stone  was  effulgent 
with  the  light  of  the  morning  sun« 


72 


F  it  is  with  true  reverence 
that  we  press  our  fore- 
heads Vainst  the  earth 
before  the  shrines  of  Na- 
ture^ we  will  not  come 
short  in  making-  respectful  obei- 
sance before  the  brick  and  mor- 
tar altars  of  the  world. 


73 


ET  not  Heresy  sit  beside  you 
in  the  pleasant  places  of 
thought,  for  it  is  a  subtle 
artist,  and  will  as  surely  set 
up  in  forest  glade  as  in  ca- 
thedral nave  that  image  which  is 
from  head  to  feet  of  gold  and  pre- 
cious metals ;  but  the  feet  being  of 
base  material— clay— at  a  stroke  it 
will  fall.  Rather  look  up  through 
the  forest  leaves  to  the  stars  and  in 
them  read  the  everlasting  truth* 


74 


Quarrel  with  no  circumstance 
of  pleasure^  be  it  in  the  embryo 
of  an  anticipation  or  in  a  real- 
ity but  half  consummating  the 
anticipation. 


75 


LUE  skies,  bluer  seas,  a  long; 
stretch  of  African  mountains, 
past  tlie  smokeless  cone  of  Etna, 
sky  and  sea,  and  then,  in  the  dis- 
tance delicately  and  firmly  cut 
in  the  yellow  and  crimson  of  the  Eastern 
sky,— Egypt,  the  Nile  land,  the  land  of 
our  dreams ! 

**  Look  off,  dear  Love,  across  the  sallow  sands 
And  mark  yon  meeting  of  the  sun  and  sea— 
How^  long  they  kiss  1  — in  sight  of  all  the  lands,— 
Ah,  longer,  longer  we ! 

Now  in  the  sea's  red  vintage  melts  the  sun. 
As  Egypt's  pearl  dissolved  in  rosy  w^ine,— 

And  Cleopatra's  night  drinks  all.    'Tis  done. 
Love,  lay  thy  hand  in  mine." 

Yes,  look,— look  off  across  the  sallow 
sands,  and  see  how  these  come  creeping^, 
creepingf  to  the  very  borders  of  that  mys- 
terious River !  The  old  Land^s  life !  See 
how,  sphinxlike,  "the  mighty  fallen^' 
are  crouching  in  the  deeps  of  that  sallow 
sand,  warming  their  broken  hearts  against 
the  old  Land'^s  breast,  and  taking  the  hot 
kiss  of  great  Ra  and  the  soft  embrace  of 
lovely  Isis  with  a  grace  not  less  proud 
than  when  they  stood  in  prime  of  glory 
on  these  same  sallow  sands.  It  is  only 
solemn  Osiris  that  has  grown  more 
solemn  and  keeps  watch  with  more  of 
silence  beside  Mer,— beloved,— and  Mena^s 


shadowy  figure  hovers  in  deeper  shadow 
over  the  borderland  of  history  and  tradi- 
tion. These  all  are  here^  but  where  are 
Thoth^  Anubis,  Horus,  Hathor  ?  Where 
Saf  and  Khem,  Hek  and  Seb?  And 
where,  O  where,  loveliest  goddess  of  the 
land,  Ma,  with  her  scales  of  Justice  and 
her  scepter  of  Truth  ?  Gone  ?  Gone,  and 
not  gfone,— but  kneeling  deep  in  the 
Desert's  sands,  or  close  to  thy  mysterious 
waters,  O  thou  River  of  life  to  the  land 
of  the  Pharaohs!  Memphis,  Thebes, 
Karnak,all  kneeling,— standing,— in  their 
mighty  grandeur  while  the  Nile  pulses  by 
them  and  between  the  soft  green  of  the 
pasture  lands;— holding  in  abeyance  the 
shifting  sands  of  the  Great  Desert.  A 
narrow  strip,  these  pasture  lands,  with  a 
hungry  world  feeding  on  them:  a  wide 
stretch,  that  scorched  Desert,  with  a  no  less 
hungry  world  searching  for  food.  But 
the  Arab  loves  his  desert;  loves  it  none 
the  less  because  of  hunger,— wanders 
among  its  silences,  slakes  his  thirst  at  the 
well  by  the  palm's  roots,  stretches  himself 
to  rest  in  the  cool  green  of  its  oasis,— 
makes  it  alt  his,— this  far-reaching  Desert, 
—and  leaves  it  only  when  he  goes  to  sing 
under  some  latticed  window, 

"  I  love  thee,  I  love  but  thee." 

But  it  is  the  sound  of  a  mighty  chorus 


77 


that  we  hear.  The  chorus  of  the  centu- 
ries !  Hear  it,  as  it  comes  sweeping  down 
the  River  past  Karnak,  past  Thebes,  past 
Memphis,— sweeping  through  the  pylons' 
splendid  arches,  through  the  temples' 
empty  chambers,  through  the  tombs'  grim 
silences— sweeping  down  and  around  the 
Pyramids  and  the  Sphinx,— sweeping 
across  the  dumb  Desert,— sweeping  down, 
ever  adown  theRiver,— the  River  1— until 
it  breaks  its  mighty  volume  along  the 
shores  of  the  Sea  and  we  hear  the  prom- 
ise,—the  promise  of  the  chorus  of  the 
centuries,— 

''Till  the  sun  groTvs  cold, 
c/lnd  the  stars  are  old, 
cAnd  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment  Book  unfold !  " 

Then  these  shall  stand,  shall  kneel,  shall 
warm  their  broken  hearts  against  their 
Mother's  breast,  shall  feel  the  kiss  of  the 
Sun-god  and  the  embrace  of  Luna's 
lovely  goddess,— shall  feel  all  this 

"  Till  the  sun  gro<ws  cold,"— 
shall  know  all  this 

"  Till  the  stars  are  old,"— 
shall  live  all  this 

"  Till  the  leagues  of  the  Judgment  Book  unfold !  " 


78 


Such  the  promise  of  the  chorus  of  the 
centuries !  Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  O  ye  gods 
of  Egypt?— 

"  Tilt  the  leaves  of  the  Judgment  Book  unfold!  " 


79 


**  The  river  is  lost,  if  the  ocean  it  miss ; 
If  the  sea  miss  the  river,  what  matter?  " 


80 


What  becomes  of  Philosophy  when 
the  eyes  must  see  other  sights  than  the 
dear  little  delights  that  so  contented 
them?— for  though 

Time  counts  for  naught  when  folded 
Back  upon  itself,  the  days  stand  full  revealed  1 
And  all  the  coming  ones  unroll 
Along  the  path  we  tread : 

yet  halcyon  days  60  have  the  necromancer^s 
skill  to  conjure  up^  at  will^  these  ^Mear 
little  delights  '^  with  a  pathos  too  tender 
for  Philosophy's  handling. 


81 


Give  to  a  chance  beginning 
the  breeze  of  fortunate  circum- 
stance, and  you  are  possessed  of 
that  blessed  thing  called  Provi- 
dence« 


82 


M 

1 

HEN  two  lives  are 
mixed  by  the  same 
force  they  do  not 
readily  resolve  apart 
again;  and  if  that 
force  has  taken  a  hand  in  mix- 
ing-the  wishes,  desires^  affections, 
and  purposes  of  these  lives,  it 
will  take  more  than  the  separa- 
tion of  body  from  body  to  re- 
solve them  apart. 


83 


HE  trouble  and  pain  of  dis- 
tance is  that  the  fine  splin- 
ters of  lives  wrenched  apart 
stretch  out  and  feel  contin- 
ually the  numbness   and 

chill  of  separation ;  but  the  pleasure 

and  joy  of  it  is  to 

^'See  how  I  come,  unchanged,  un-worn!  — 
Feel  w^here  my  life  broke  off  from  thine, 
How  fresh  the  splinters  keep  and  fine,— 
Only  a  touch  and  we  combine  1 " 


84 


Such  a  starved  bank  of  moss 

Till,  that  May  morn 
Blue  ran  the  flash  across : 

Violets  were  bom  I 

Sky— what  a  scowl  of  cloud 

Till,  near  and  far, 
Ray  on  ray  split  the  shroud : 

Splendid,  a  star  I 

World— how  it  walled  about 

Life  with  disgrace 
Till  God's  ow^n  smile  came  out : 

That  was  thy  face  I 


Robert  'Brcnuntng, 


85 


HEN  Robert  Browmng: 
died,  this  world  shrunk  to 
a  commoner  evenness.  In 
his  life  was  the  flame  of 
the  **  old  and  dear/'  and 
heat  enowgfh  to  fuse  soul  and  flesh 
into  a  beingf  worthy  to  be  called  a 
man !  .  .  .  And  when  some  hand 
wrote  (and  left  it  on  his  grave)  ^ 
^^Yes,  I  give  thee  highest  praise 
when  I  say,  through  thee  I  am 
nearer  to  God/*  that  hand  wrote  for 
many. 


86 


Balance,  measwre,  rhythm! 
Listen  when  these  come  togeth- 
er to  play  in  the  orchestra  of  a 
single  life,  and  you  will  hear  a 
symphony* 


HE  history  of  a  woman  made 
famous  on  the  sacred  page  by 
the  fulfillment  of  a  mission  that 
was  laid  upon  her  tells  also  of 
how  she  was  possessed  of  that 
beauty  which  equipped  her  for 
any  call  within  a  woman's  sphere  and, 
in  this  special  mission,  out  of  it.  The 
story  reads,  **  She  clothed  herself  with  the 
g:arments  of  her  g^ladness  and  put  sandals 
on  her  feet,  and  took  her  bracelets  and 
corslets  and  rings  and  adorned  herself  with 
all  her  ornaments:  and  the  Lord  also 
gave  her  more  beauty/*  —  **  exceedingly 
beautifuP'  is  the  epithet  on  the  sacred 
page.  She  added  to  native  beauty  rich 
and  varied  ornament,  and  together  the 
natural  and  the  superficial  equipped  her 
for  her  mission.  The  story  is  as  old  as 
the  page  on  which  it  is  recorded ;  and  the 
idea  holds  that  beauty  and  such  orna- 
mentation as  may  enhance  it,  are  a  wo- 
man's natural  right,  nor  are  they,  when 
kept  under  a  rule  of  a  sweet  decorum, 
the  helpers  or  cause  of  the  untrue— that 
untruth  which  springs  from  the  corrupt 
nature  of  man  when  fostered  by  the  most 
delusive  of  senses,  sight.  Mere  plastic 
beauty,  with  its  more  or  less  of  added 
ornament,  has  in  itself  no  distinct  power 
over  minds  that  recognize  soul  in  its 
classic  outline.    To  such,  ornamentation 


88 


holds  that  relative  value  which  the  dra- 
peries  that  an   artist  uses  have  to  the 
statue.     It  is  the  statue,  pure  and  simple 
in  its  classic  lines,  that  holds  the  charm : 
the  draperies  are  accessory.    The  intel- 
ligfence,  the  tact,  the  grace  to  subordinate 
all  accessories  to  the   real,   to   the   true 
beauty  of  the  mind  and  heart,  to  give  to 
each  its  classic  finish,  to  make  all  coa- 
lesce and  harmonize,  is  a  gift,— is  God^s 
beauty,— the    rarest  of    gifts,   and   is   a 
beauty  not  to  be  concealed  by  those  dra- 
peries which  a  woman  in  her  love  of  the 
beautiful  employs.    It  is  not  the  material 
form  nor  any  adornment  of  it  that  works 
the  charm  all-powerful,  but  the  mind,  the 
soul.   These  seem  to  touch  the  body,  as  it 
were,  with  their  grace,  and  it  becomes  a 
beautiful    expression  of    God's    beauty. 
This  is  the  beauty  that  is  a  glory  to  the 
awakened  mind,  an  enigma  to  the  un- 
awakened.     Busy  as  the  world  is  in  dis- 
cerning  and  comparing  the  beauty   of 
women,  few  recognize  the  source  of  its 
power  and  fewer  appreciate  the  real  power 
there  is  in  the  harmonious  blending  of  the 
two  forces,  the  within  and  the  without. 
It  is  when  this  blending  is  absolutely  har- 
monious that  we  have  the  type,  perfect, 
beauty  in  classic  outline.     The  possessor 
of  this  sequence  of  beauty  must  be  content 
with  the  epithets  '^  handsome,^' "  refined,*' 


89 


**  cultivated/'  mindful  that  it  is  not  given 
to  every  social  astronomer,  however  per- 
severing in  research,  to  see  how  **  one  star 
dif fereth  from  another  star  in  glory/' 


Oh  woman !   Lovely  woman  I  Nature  made  thee 
To  temper  man :  we  had  been  brutes  without  you ; 
Angek  are  painted  fair,  to  look  like  you : 
There's  in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven, 
Amazing  brightness,  purity,  and  truth, 
Eternal  joy  and  everlasting  love. 

Thomas  Ot'w&y, 
1682. 


91 


O  pen,  ancient  oi*  modern,  has 
given  so  delicate  a  delineation 
of  love's  experiences  as  that  of 
Aristophanes,  the  Greek  satir- 
ist,  Aristophanes  meets  Pe- 
trarch in  Elysium  and  questions 
him  about  Dante  and  himself,  Petrarch 
answers,  "  I  had  now  for  a  long;  time  been 
furnishing:  my  mind  with  much  impor- 
tant knowledge,  some  of  which  I  had  al- 
ready given  to  the  world  in  books,  when 
that  Laura  (quella  Laura),  of  whom  I 
have  spoken,  came  into  my  view.  I  do 
not  know  how  it  was  that  now  all  these 
thoughts  of  mine, scattered  before  in  many 
directions,  came  suddenly  together,  into 
one  mass,  and  turned  themselves  upon  this 
one  woman,  so  that  she  became  the  master 
of  my  intellect  more  than  I  myself.  No 
other  object  was  before  my  eyes :  I  saw 
Laura  only.  One  glance  of  hers,  a  sigh, 
a  smile,  her  pose,  began  to  be  to  me  things 
of  moment,  so  that  I  gave  myself  up  to 
portraying  them  in  verse.  Nor  can  I  ac- 
count for  it  how  everything  I  had  ever 
gained  by  study  was  forthwith  turned 
into  use  to  ornament  the  pictures  I  made. 
These  were  seen  by  men,  and  they  were 
pleased  with  them;  and  so  to  the  stimulus 
of  love  was  joined  that  of  fame.  From 
thenceforth  I  felt  myself  ever  more  and 
more  animated  and  transported  both  by 


92 


impulse  and  effort,  so  that  I  devoted  my- 
self entirely  to  paintingf  her  and  me. 
Then  I  studied  my  own  heart  as  people 
study  books,  only  with  much  more  dili- 
gence; and  by  this  self -study  and  self- 
acquaintance,  I  discovered  in  my  heart,  in 
its  every  slightest  movement,  whether  of 
hope,  of  fear,  of  grief —of  every  feeling,  in 
fine— an  infinity  of  circumstances  with 
which  to  embellish  and  increase  my  in- 
ward affections,  and  with  which  I  quickly 
colored  them  and  put  them  into  words, 
thus  giving  outward  form  to  my  inward 
feelings  and  making  a  picture  of  them* 
Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  every  man  who 
saw  the  representation  of  what  he  felt 
within  himself  stopped  to  look,  finding 
in  my  pictures  the  similitude  of  his  own 
feelings;  and  in  his  wonder  that  every 
inmost  impulse  could  be  thus  clothed  in 
palpable  substance  {potesse  a.'vere  tanto 
corpo)  he  exclaimed,  in  recognizing  the 
portrait,  ^How  trueT^  Aristophanes 
here  tells  Petrarch  that  the  great  success 
he  met  in  the  popularity  of  his  work  was 
because  he  had  handled  a  subject  that  was 
not  only  universal  but  a  **  common  vice  ** 
—  {il'vizio  comune)  at  which  Petrarch  ex- 
claims, **  No,  no,  Aristophanes  I  not  vice. 
I  would  have  you  know  that  in  regard 
to  the  passion  of  love  I  depict  naught 
else  than  that  which  is  noble,  courteous. 


93 


gffacefuL  In  nature  there  are  many 
aspects— infinite  beauty,  great  ugliness: 
but  he  who  would  copy  her  should  select 
the  beautiful  in  her;  and  he  who  does  not 
cannot  be  called  a  good  artist,  but  is  one 
of  those  painters  who  make  a  likeness 
from  defects,  lends  his  brush  to  dispropor- 
tions, and  produces  ugliness,— nature  car- 
icatured. From  such  work,  as  from  fire, 
I  keep  clear/'  Having  thus  defended 
himself  and  his  art  against  the  charge  of 
vice,  Petrarch  proceeds  to  question  why 
it  was  and  how  it  was  that  Laura  had 
spoiled  his  appreciation  of  objects  attrac- 
tive, his  eyes  seeing  one  object  only,— 

"  Sul  una.  donna  'veggio,  e'l  suo  bel  'viso/' 

With  Petrarch  it  was  personal  beauty 
that  touched  the  soul's  chord ;  with  many 
another  man,  mien,  manner,  sense,  senti- 
ment. Soul-traits  of  inborn  nobleness 
have  been  as  all-inspiring  and  as  potent 
to  make  a  man  cry 

"  Sul  una  donna.  <veggio,  e'l  suo  bel  viso!  " 

for,  from  whatever  its  conception,  Platonic 
love—  an  innocent  name  for  a  very  com- 
plicated misery— is  easily  nurtured.  It  is 
only  needful  that  a  beauty  pleasing  to 
the  mind  of  a  lover  pass  before  his  real 
or  mental  vision,  and  the  elevation  to  the 


94 


throne  of  the  senses  or  of  the  soul  begins. 
In  gentle,  coofteoos  speech,  mind  gets  an 
index  of  mind ;  and  if  the  gifts  of  that 
mind  are  rare  enough,  gentle  speech  will 
make  them,  as  it  were,  translucent  not 
only  in  words  but  in  every  accompanying 
attitude.  However  patrician  these  gifts 
may  be,  courtesy  and  modesty  will  play 
noble  parts,  and  sentiment  will  throw  its 
multicolored  light  upon  the  scene  and  call 
the  two, 

**  bom  the  whole  wide  world  apart,** 

to  recognize,  and  to 

**  read  life's  meaning  in  each  other's  eyes." 

Then  comes  the  suffusion  of  delicate  feel- 
ings, partly  harmonious,  partly  sympa- 
thetic, and  the  mind  is  in  a  glow.  So  far 
all  may  have  been  spontaneous,  natural, 
but  it  is  here  that  a  battle  is  to  be  fought 
if  the  affections  are  not  to  be  allowed 
further  advance.  Will  now  takes  "a 
hand  **  and  the  mind  concurs  and  acts  so 
that  what  was  spontaneous  becomes  pur- 
pose. The  affections  are  stimulated  to 
an  infinite  degree  just  as  a  flame  will  as- 
cend if  the  hot  coals,  smoldering  under 
ashes,  are  fanned  by  a  wind.  And  this 
is  precisely  what  Petrarch  did:  he  stirred 
the  ashes  and,  as  his  sonnets  show. 


96 


kept  fanningf  them  until  the  delicious 
agitation  became  all-powerful^  and  will 
and  reason  powerless,  at  the  helm  of  a  life 
driven  before  such  a  tempest.  Such  the 
life  of  Petrarch  and  such  that  of  Heloise 
—deepest  souled  woman!  Petrarch  took 
to  poetry,  Heloise  to  piety ;  but  they  had, 
like  Hercules,  wrapped  about  them  the 
flaming  vesture— no  relief— the  story  of 
its  pain  and  its  pleasure  alike,  in  three 
words, 

"Sul  una.  donna  I " 
Un  sol  uomo  J 


96 


ET  poets  pierce  Nature's  gloom 
and  flood  her  beauty  with  the 
transcendent  light  of  their  poetic 
imaginations ;  but  go  not  to  them 
for  the  moral  law^  nor  for  that 
sublime  truth  which  underlies  law.  They 
are  not  lawgivers  unless  it  be  on  Love, 
and  then  they  write  law  for  that  phase  of 
love  which  is  oftener  traced  on  the  sands 
of  earth  than  that  which  is  written  on 
the  vault  of  heaven ;  and,  besides,  they 
have  special  genius  for  introducing  pret- 
tily phrased  heresies  which  come  to  per- 
vade belief  like  the  pure  white  mists  that 
rise  among  the  mountains  and  settle  over 
the  lower  heights.  Such  mists  do  not 
stop  life  or  its  duties,  but  they  do  prevent 
those  in  them  from  an  all-embracing  view, 
and,  above  all,  prevent  a  view  of  that 
sunlight  which  does  so  glorify  the  upper 
air,— above  the  mists,— and  in  which  the 
true  poet,  living  ever  in  the  sunlight  of 
his  own  high  endowments,  must  rejoice. 
These  heresies  are  more  often  the  result 
of  poetic  license  than  of  intent  to  dim 
that  spiritual  vision  which  needs,  in  com- 
ing from  oblivion  into  light,  to  see  the 
full  glory  of  the  Throne  of  Love. 


MLOSOPHY  finds  the  olti- 
mate  meaning  of  the  uni- 
verse under  the  notion  of  the 
ego;  poetry  looks  through 
the  worlds  of  time  and  space 
as  through  a  sublime  symbol  to  the 
eternal  beauty ;  morality,  as  the  vic- 
torious struggle  of  the  personal  soul 
after  righteousness,  discovers  God 
through  life.  We  need  philosophy 
with  its  notion,  and  poetry  with  its 
symbol,  and  morality  with  its  life« 
These  three  great  expressions  of  the 
human  spirit  must  ever  remain/' 


98 


Romance,— would  it  differ  so 
materially  today  from  yesterday 
did  the  press  and  the  telegraph 
not  deny  to  hero  and  heroine 
the  wearing  of  the  impersonal 
domino  ? 


99 


I  would  have  five  mottoes :  so^  I  turn  to  you, 
Who  are  ever  in  touch  with  the  old  and  the  new, 
And  you  answ^er,  taking  my  hand : 
"First,  a  command,— 

'  Ma.rk  the  hours  thai  shine. 
And  choose  you  in  their  light  a.  friendship,  fine* ' 

Second,  a  prayer,— 

And  feel  you  how^  it  fills  the  air  I  — 

'  Let  me  dream  my  dream  !  '  ~ 
Fills  the  air,  and  holds  you  heaven  and  earth 
betTveen J 

Third,  a  promise 
(That  sounds  like  a  bliss  I ), 

'  All  things  come  to  those  <who  Hvait  1 ' 
And  this  leads  straightw^ay  to  the  Fourth,— //ig  gate 
At  'which  I  linger,— io  w^hisper  in  your  ear, 
^My  happiest  moments  center  here.' 
Now,  prithee,  you  the  Fifth  on  me  bestow. 
Hearl?- 

For  warmth  and  shelter  where  to  go 

/  knoRU  I    I  kncHV  !  ' ' 


100 


SAINT  GEORGE'S  DAY. 


Some  wind  blew  a  flower 

(Aye,  know  I  from  where  1 ). 
It  fell  at  my  feet, 

on  the  still  evening  air, 
I  caught  it,  and  whispered : 

Bright  one,  thou  must  go 
On  a  journey  this  night, 

and  bestow^ 
A  joy— pure  as  thyself  !- 

Hark  1— No  footsteps  draw  near  ?— 

Then,  sweet  one,  thij  token  !  . . 
That's  aU.    He'll  know - 
At  eve,  morn,  or  noontide, 
In  cloister  or  hall, 
Who's  there  by  his  side." 


101 


HIS  MADONNA. 


What  thought  the  master 
When  he  fixed  this  angel  face 
In  sky  of  gold?  — here,  in  holy  place,— 
The  clouds  soft,  fihny,  as  her  falling  lace. 

Thought  he  that  men  would  come 
With  reverence,  her  royal  state  to  see  ? 
And  seeing,  turn  in  prayer— as  she  — 
Their  eyes,— beyond  the  place,— and  fall 

on  Dended  knee  ? 

HTis  true. 
That  so  the  master  thought  :  — 
And  thus  the  inspiration,  caught 
Fire  to  brush,— and  lo,  he  painted  as 

God  taught. 


102 


HIS  CROWN. 


See^  how  it  glo'ws 
(Full  mercy  God  besto'ws) 
Glows  with  heaven's  imprisoned  light, 
Now  finished  is  the  earthly  fight,  — 
And  pinioned  full,  his  soul  above 
Floats  ever,  in  God's  light  and  love. 


It  is  said  that  if  we  do  but  live 
long  enough  we  will  find  in  the 
memories  of  a  welded  friendship 
the  only  point  at  which  thought 
comes  in  joyous  touch  with 
human  life. 


104 


Memory  glows  along  the  sky  line, 
Dyes  the  clouds  of  life  like  wine, 
Leads  us  through  her  sacred  temples, 
Stays  our  feet  oy  every  shrine, 

Catches  quickly  each  low^  heart  moan. 
Clasps  us  in  her  arms,  alone. 
Whispers  softly  of  a  future 
That  would  surely  all  atone. 

Thus  in  tenderest  pity  does  she 
Call,  or  woo  a  hope  for  us. 
Mindful  ever,  gentle  spirit, 
That  all  hope  is  one  w^ith  trust. 


105 


i  I 


N  a  disappointment  that  is  all 
disappointment  a  pure  bitter 
remains  that  no  after  sweet 
will  take  away^  which  leaves 
the  taste  unimpaired,— no 
mixed  flavor  of  half  pleasure,  but 
pure  and  fine,  without  taint  of  com- 
mon sweets.  And  yet  to  determine 
to  save  one^s  self  the  pure  bitter  of  a 
disappointment  by  denyingf  one's  self 
the  sweet  sippingf  at  an  anticipation 
is  to  lose,  "  most  like,''  all  pleasure. 


UT  satisfaction  to  a  cru- 
cial test,  and  it  will  be 
found  to  consist  of  but 
little  more  than  that  a 
swallow  feels  in  dipping 
its  beak,  or  sweeping  the  surface 
of  the  lake  with  its  wing;  and 
yet,  there  are  deep  satis  factions. 


107 


What  the  ligfht  of  day  fails 
to  discover  is^  in  some  night, 
by  the  altar's  lamp,  revealed. 


108 


THE  VOICE  OF  IMPATIENCE. 


Say  when,— for  the  year  is  wearing  on, 
And  the  days  are  gray,  and  all  time  is  long, 
And  the  leaves  that  reddened  in  Autumn's  glow 
Are  fallen  and  sere  on  the  earth  below. 


THE  VOICE  OF  PROMISE. 


Hist  I  under  these  leaves  are  the  reds  of  life, 
Waiting  and  watching,  aglow  and  rife 
For  the  chance  to  burst,  w^ith  Love's  first  kiss. 
The  bands  of  winter,  and  drink  spring's  bliss ! 


F  what  use  is  wishing;^  earnest 
wishing  ?  Endless  good.  What 
else  so  sets  the  soul  athrob  and 
pushes  the  clay  of  existence  into 
Pisgah  heights?— those  glorious 
heights  from  which  pathways  lead  to  left 
and  right  and  the  zigza.g  roadways  lead 
on  to  the  to-be-revealed !  These  heights 
attained,  wishing  takes  on  the  dignity  of 
purpose,  the  mind  takes  large  range,  and 
the  will  gives  free  rein,— the  mists  lift  or 
fall  away  into  the  swamp  lands  far  be- 
low, while  the  clear  waters  of  the  upland 
lake  reflect  a  face  made  fair  by  bathing 
its  dust's  seamed  lines.  Nature,  on  these 
heights,  has  no  cuts- de-sac,  all  open  and 
free,— and  all  day  long  from  crest  of  rock 
and  lap  of  dell  edelweiss  and  rose  send 
greetings  on  the  lips  of  the  breeze,  and 
the  paradise  bird  sings  to  its  mate, 

I  love  thee,  yes,  love  thee, 
My  sweetest  mate  ckar  I 
And  love  thee,  and  love  thee 
For  singing  so  clear,  — 
For  singing  thy  song,  Love, 
Alone  to  my  ear  1 


110 


EART-WISHES,  say  the 

Italians^  are  senza  misura,— 
not  measured,  not  to  be 
measured.  Such  wishes  hav- 
ing: the  impulse  of  their  own 
native  vitality  dilating  spontaneous- 
ly, no  people  ought  to  know  better 
the  senza  misura  of  them  than  the 
children  of  a  soil  in  which  Nature 
dilates  with  a  beauty  and  spontane- 
ity that  is  without  measure. 


WHERE  ART  THOU  ? 


I  listen— listen— lifting  up  my  heart,— 
I  look  and  see  thee  near  and  yet  apart,— 
Feel  thee  close  and  ever  near  to  me— 
Afar,  yet  near,— and,  looking,  looking,  see 
My  love  alone :  —  the  world  unseen  — 
My  own  I— though  hundreds  stand  between. 


112 


HE  Seufzen  Attee  is  to  be  closed. 
Closed— beautiful  vista  that  it  is ! 
From  an  acorn,  so  to  say,  grew 
the  branching-  oaks  that  shade  it, 
far-reaching:  these,  deep-rooted, 
festooned,  too,  and  g:arlanded  to  topmost 
twig  with,  ah !  so  delicate  a  vine.  Poetry- 
has  graced  this  path,  and  will  again,  but 
till  she  comes  again  Philosophy,— stalwart 
guard  to  all  virtues  and  one  who  helps 
them  to  blend  in  due  and  proper  propor- 
tion,-shall  walk  the  Allee  alone.  There, 
arm  in  arm  with  this  sage.  Memory  will 
search  out  Poetry^s  steps,  and  Memory 
too  shall  take  her  sun  bath  in  the  light 
that  filters  through  the  branches.  And 
then  Memory  and  Philosophy  shall  laugh 
with  the  neighboring  brook  because  there 
is  one  thing  on  earth  too  choice  to  have  a 
counterpart  I  The  beginning  was  chance 
and  incident, -and  Philosophy  and  Mem- 
ory know  how  to  make  the  most  of  these, 
—  and  walking  arm  in  arm  through  the 
now  closed  Allee  shall  determine  whether 
this  whole  which  has  eventuated  so  per- 
fectly is  the  fortune  come  from  chance  or 
from  Providence. 


113 


S  ideal  loveliness  is  to  the 
sculptor^  faith  is  to  the  hearty 
—faith  rightly  understood 
extends  over  all  the  works 
of  the  Creator,  whom  we 
can  know  but  through  belief;— it 
embraces  a  calm  confidence  in  our- 
selves, and  a  serene  repose  as  to  our 
future,— it  is  the  moonlight  that 
sways  the  tides  of  the  human  sea." 


114 


THE  SONG  OF  FAITH. 


Athwart  the  sky  to  farthest  reach 
Clouds,  full  of  storm,  pile  each  on  each, 
But,  close  along  the  horizon's  line 
A  light  flames  upward,  —  all  divine !  — 
A  Ught  from  altar,  thine  and  mine. 

Speak  gently,  ca.ro, 

soft  and  law, 

H  caro,  caro  mio  ! 

Now^,  hand  in  hand,  we  w^atch  the  sky 

And  see  its  storm  clouds  passing  by, 

Dispelled  by  rays  of  heavenly  light 

That  makes  a  day  of  darkest  night. 

And  drapes  Love's  couch  all  gold  and  bright. 

Breathe  softly,  caro, 

soft  and  Icrv, 

II  caro,  caro  mio  ! 

O  rapturous  night  !—0  glorious  day  I  ~ 
What  ransom  is  too  dear  to  pay 
For  joy  and  freedom  such  as  this  I 
A  joy  that's  life,— no  dream  of  bliss,— 
A  freedom  God-sealed  with  a  kiss. 

Sing  s<weetly,  caro, 

siveet  and  low, 

R  caro,  caro  mio  I 


115 


FATE.    FAITH. 


OMEWHERE  in  every  experi- 
ence these  hi  ghw  ays  inter sectt  and 
it  is  of  the  utmost  interest  to  note 
what  effect  the  experiences  that 
have  led  up  to  this  point  of  inter- 
section is  to  have  upon  the  choice  made. 
If  they  have  hardened— made  unbeautiful 
the  outlook  into  life— and  are  naturally 
pessimistic,  temperament  will  throw  its 
weight  of  influence  into  the  choice,  and 
then  will  the  eyes  of  Fate  see 

**  Only  a  driving  wreck, 
And  the  pale  master  on  his  spar-strewn  deck 
With  anguished  face  and  flying  hair 
Grasping  the  rudder  hard, 

Still  bent  to  make  some  port  he  knows  not  w^here. 
Still  standing  for  some  false,  impossible  shore. 
And  sterner  comes  the  roar 

Of  sea  and  wind,  and  through  the  deepening  gloom 
Fainter  and  fainter  w^reck  and  helmsman  loom. 
And  he  too  disappears,  and  comes  no  more.** 

But  if  these  experiences,  whatever  their 
nature,  have  made  the  soul  cry  out, 
**  Thougfh  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
him,*'  the  eyes  of  Faith  will  see  the 
rainbow  of  promise  in  any  sky  and  the 
voice  proclaim. 


116 


I  go  to  prove  my  soul  I 
I  see  my  way  as  birds  their  trackless  way. 
I  shall  arrive  I- What  time,  what  circuit, 
I  ask  not ; 

In  some  time,  His  good  time,  I  shall  arrive  : 

He  guides  me  and  the  bird.     In  His  good  time  I " 

**  Be  sure  that  God 

Ne'er  dooms  to  waste  the  strength  He  deigns  im- 
part." 


117 


A  FATE. 


It  ploughed  through  her  life 

With  a  furrow  so  deep, 
That  venture  she  dare  not, 

Except  in  her  sleep,— 
When  in  holy  somnambulance 

God  leads  her  unharmed 
To  where,  in  His  goodness. 

She  w^akens  rearmed. 


118 


AKE  from  the  Infinite 
reality  this  show  under 
which  it  appears  in  time 
and  space,  pierce  back- 
ward to  the  Eternal  un- 
der this  phenomenal  pageant, 
and  then  our  conceptions  at  their 
best  answer  to,  are  but  the 
thought-side  of,  the  ultimate  and 
everlasting;  truth/' 


The  larger  the  deposit  of 
sadness  in  a  nature,  the  eas- 
ier is  that  nature  stirred  by 
pathetic  thought. 


120 


Let  time  and  chance  combine,  combine, 
Let  time  and  chance  combine : 
The  fairest  love,  from  Heaven  above, 
That  love  of  yours  was  mine, 

My  dear. 
That  love  of  yours  was  mine. 

The  past  is  fled  and  gone,  and  gone, 
The  past  is  fled  and  gone  : 
If  naught  but  pain  to  me  remain 
m  fare  in  memory  on. 

My  dear, 
VU  fare  in  memory  on. 

Thomas  Carlyle. 


If  sorrow. 
In  the  nobler  sort, 
Bears  semblance  to  despair. 
And  every  thought  from  out  the  heart 
Is  worded  like  a  prayer. 
And  every  wish  is  carried  swift 
To  Him  who  reigns  above. 
It  is  because,  through  time  and  chance, 
JVe  kept  ucJiarmed  thy  love. 


121 


OWEVER  delight- 
fully merry  a  mem- 
ory of  yesterday, 
we  laogfh  heartiest 
when  our  feet  are 
racing  over  the  beach  of  life 
made  smooth  and  fine  by 
the  tide  of  the  happy  today. 


122 


"If  life  be  not  that  which  without  us  we  find- 
Chancc,  accident  merely -but  rather  the  mind, 
And  the  soul  which,  within  us,  surviveth  these 

things. 
If  our  real  existence  have  truly  its  springs 
Less  in  that  which  we  do  than  in  that  which  we 

feel," 


then 


"  Time  is  a  fiction,  and  limits  not  fate. 

Thought  alone  is  eternal.     Time  thralls  it  in  vain. 

For  the  thought  that  springs  upward  and  yearns  to 

regain 
The  pure  source  of  spirit,  there  is  no  TOO  LATE." 


CHE  SERA,  SERA. 


A  shadow  in  morning 

comes  not  from  above, 
But  creeps  to  our  feet 

from  below,  my  love,  - 
And,  that  one,  enmeshed  us 

in  dark,  misty  air, 
Was  because  we  forgot - 

in  a  moment  of  care  — 
That  time  is  a  fiction 

and  limits  not  fate"— 
That  in  love  eternal 

there  is  no ''TOO  LATE." 


123 


O  amoant  of  feflection 
lessens  the  annoyance 
of  a  contretemps  come 
to  a  cause  tliat  is  of  no 
interest  to  any  but  one^s 
self;  on  the  contrary,  increases 
it,  since  in  reflection  the  mind 
runs  a  wild  gamut  over  the  pos- 
sibilities and  the  impossibilities 
until  it  falls  back  desole,—desole  I 


WALKED  along  a  pathway  that 
overlooked  the  highway  of  a  life, 
—  no  dusty  thoroughf are,  but  one 
with  wealth  of  flora  planted,  and 
I  marveled  at  the  care  with  which 
all  this  was  nurtured  into  a  per- 
fection of  bloom.    The  many  who  were 
graciously  permitted  to  walk  that  way 
found  turf   with   intersect  of  soft  white 
sand,  for  the  feet's  comfort ;  and  of  these 
many  who  walked,  I  saw  how  some  were 
on  duty,  some  on  pleasure  bent,  but  some 
on  wantonness. ...  I  walked  again  along 
the  overlooking  pathway,  and,  looking, 
saw  all  the  flowers  within  a  long  arm's 
reach  broken,  and  throv/n  ruthlessly  into 
the  roadway,  while  the  green  and  tender 
leaves  and  frondage  were  ground  as  by  a 
heel  into  the  soil.     Appalled  at  such  wan- 
ton devastation  of  the  beauty  that  had 
contributed  so  much  to  the  cheer  of  Duty's 
wayfarers,  so  much  to  the  joy  of  pleasure 
seekers,  I  questioned  what  kind  of  enemy 
could  have  done  this.  And  then  I  remem- 
bered the  canton.    These  were  the  swine 
before  whom  pearls  had  been  spread.  As  I 


125 


pondered, there  came  from  out  a  pathway, 
descendingf  the  mountain's  side  through 
shelter  of  trees  and  interlace  of  vines,  a  wo- 
rn an,  tall  and  slight.  She  stepped  into  the 
middle  of  the  roadway  and  for  one  short 
hour  walked  slowly  about,  contemplating 
the  enormity  of  the  devastation.  Neither 
wind  nor  rain  wrought  this  ruin ;  no  law 
of  nature  compelling  acquiescence,  but 
that  unnatural  thing,  ruthless  wanton- 
ness. She  pondered  long  how  it  was,  that 
a  domain,  which  by  reason  of  natural 
beauty  seemed  to  have  been  intended  for 
the  pleasure  of  many,  and  through  which, 
to  that  end,  she  had  opened  up  the  fairest 
of  highways,— how  it  was  that  any  way- 
farer could  have  been  thus  lawless.  I 
watched  her  as  she  stopped  to  gather  up 
the  broken  bloom,  and  noted  how  tenderly 
she  lifted  the  crushed  leaves  from  the  mel- 
low earth ;  and  then  I  saw  her  turn  and 
look  away  to  where  the  entrance  and  the 
egress  gates  stood  open  wide :  and  I  knew 
that  from  henceforth  these  ivould  be  closed, 
**What  loss!  what  loss!^  I  cried;  and 
as  though  my  voice  had  reached  her  ear 
she  raised  her  eyes,  but  they  looked  far 
away  beyond  my  pathway's  height,  and 
as  the  sinking  sun  turned  the  clouds  that 
threatened  to  enshroud  the  evening's  sky 
into  a  glory,  she  closed  the  gates. 


126 


*^  The  sky  was  fair, 
And  a  fresh  breath  of  spring  stirred  everyw^here. 

white  anemones 

Starred  the  cool  turf,  and  clumps  of  primroses 
Ran  out  from  the  dark  underwood  behind. 
No  fairer  resting  place  man  could  find 

and  only, 

The  white  sheep  are  sometimes  seen 

Cross  and  recross  the  strip  of  moon-blanched  green/ 


127 


O  the  eye  the  skin's 
smoothness  about  a 
deep  wound  may 
seem  as  perfect  as 
before  the  wound 
was  made,  but  to  the  touch, 
—that  more  sensitive  of 
senses,— will  be  revealed  the 
spot  where  the  blade  en- 
tered. 


128 


HE  tatters  of  hap- 
piness best  gfo  with 
the  wind  that  rent 
it ;  kept,  they  serve 
no  better  end  than 
to  remind*  No  feast  is  pal- 
atable with  a  skeleton  at 
the  board. 


HEN  all  the  fires  of 
life  get  stamped 
low  and  all  the 
hopes  of  life  un- 
winged,  then  shut 

thou  thyself  in  the  workshop 

of  thy  soul. 


130 


ROM  the  moment 
in  which  the  door 
of  birth  opens  and 
lets  a  life  out  opon 
the  stage  of  livings 
until  the  moment  in  which 
the  door  of  death  closes  up- 
on its  acting,  life  is  one  great 
tragedy :— comedy  is  only 
its  Dy-play. 


131 


God  kept  a  soul  in  leash^— 
Most  danger-near  the  portal  of  this  world,  — 
Wherein,  a  body  made  and  fashioned  in  a  mold, 

His  own,  — 
Was  waiting  for  the  life-throb  through  its  veins. 

God  turned  his  face,  — 
And  straightway  slipped  the  soul  from  side  of  Him : 
And  ere  he  saw^  'twas  opening  up  to  life 
Each  dormant  organ  of  the  body  there,  that  else 
Was  sodden  clay. 

The  soul  had  chosen  and  its  march  begun. 
Slow^  steps  at  first  for  one  o'er  brim  with  life,  — 
But  hope  gave  promise,  fast  w^ould  grow^  the  pace 
When  once  those  untaught  feet  had  learned  life's 
stride. 

And  then, 
Dear  soul,  what  better  couldst  thou  do  ? 
Go  back  thou  couldst  not ;  the  door  was  closed. 
'Twas  forward  thou  must  go,  howe'er  opposed,— 
Until  thy  God-taught  feet  Imd  learned  to  run,— 

To  carry  thee  from  whence  thine  eyes  should  see 
The  farther  portal  to  God's  paradise :  to  which,  — 
When  come, -thy  body  will  have  done,  and  thou, 
Enfreed,  will  leave  it  and  slip  back  to  God. 


132 


HE  episodes  of  ever  so 
dear  a  little  animal  ex- 
istence are  not  enga- 
gingly interesting  to  the 
readers  of  biography. 
It  is  only  when  the  soil  of  life 
heaves  into  unevenness^  break- 
ing the  flat  plain  of  childhood 
into  the  picturesque  by  action^ 
that  biography  is  engaging. 


133 


F  thy  life  unrolls 
pure  cloth  of  g:old, 
see  to  it  that  profane 
hands  slash  not  into 
it  as  into  common 
stuff,— and^  in  the  end,  use 
the  remnant  for  the  soles  of 
their  feet. 


134 


HEN  no  harvest  is, 
gather  together  the 
scattered  straws  from 
the  last,  and  bunch 
them  together  in  the 
sunniest  comer  of  thy  dwelling 
place;  then  will  thy  flesh— may- 
be thy  spirit— have  comfort. 


135 


**  The  nun  said  her  prayer, 
The  nun  -wove  her  lace : 
Still  was  the  air, 
Lonely  the  place. 
Only  the  convent  bell,  only  the  wild  bird's  note 
With  the  sweet  pang  of  sound  the  sighing  silence 
smote. 

The  nun  said  her  prayer. 

The  nun  w^orkcd  her  lace : 
Her  cell  w^as  bare, 

None  saw^  her  face. 
Who  then  could  ever  think,  who  then  could  ever 

care? 
Hcf  tears  fell  on  the  lace,  her  smile  broke  through 
the  prayer. 

The  nun  said  her  prayer. 

The  nun  wove  her  lace : 
Life  sad  and  fair. 
Pity's  keen  grace. 
Shaped  with  the  broider's  thread,  shaped  with  the 

pious  plaint, 
One  pattern,  lilies  white :  one  pattern,  lilies  quaint. 

The  nun  ceased  to  pray, 

The  nun  droppecf  her  lace : 
Through  dusk  of  day 
Veiled  mourners  pace. 
What  snow^-w^hite  angels  bear,  w^hat  fevered  mortals 

w^ear, 
The  lilies  of  her  lace,  the  lilies  of  her  prayer  I " 


136 


HE  force  of  education  not  infre- 
quently holds  in  severest  reserve 
natures  whose  beauty  could  be 
discovered  only  by  a  full,  free 
outflow.  Such  men  walk  life's 
path  like  sentinels  on  their  one  beat,  hav- 
ing enough  of  the  soldier  nature  to  en- 
dure to  the  end  the  dead  monotony.  But 
there  are  men  who  could  not  walk  such 
path  though  from  every  side  gratuities 
and  condescensions  pressed  upon  them. 
Freedom  they  must  have ;  —  the  days 
must  be  filled  with  fresh,  cheering  glad- 
ness and  allow  of  merrymaking  over 
t!ie  simplest  of  their  j'oys.  Then  is  there 
courage  for  any  buffeting  and  the  grace 
to  turn  storm  elements  into  serenest  calm. 


137 


THE  WHEEL  IS  COME  FULL 
CIRCLE, 


FELICITOUS  line,  which  in 
simple  words  gathers  into  one 
thought  an  entire  drama,  and 
sends  the  truth  of  it  jingling 
along  the  lines  of  thought  I 
' '  The<wheel  is  come  full  circle, 
A  circle  being  the  emblem  of  eternity,  what 
means  it  when  one,  with  all  its  limitless 
boundaries,  is  drawn  around  the  heart,— a 
dear  name  for  its  center  ?  What  but  that 
such  heart  wears  from  henceforth  the  sym- 
bols of  that  happiness  and  dilates  within 
the  circle  of  it  through  the  years  of  time ; 
and  will,  with  God's  grace,  through  eter- 
nity. In  the  presence  of  the  beloved,  with 
the  heart's  movement,  the  circle  may  ex- 
pand, but  no  new  element  of  happiness  will 
find  room  within  its  circumference.  Feel- 
ing, too,  will  expand,  and  give  growth  and 
amplitude  to  every  germ  of  joy  planted 
within,  and  speedily  will  the  hundredfold 
be  brought  forth. 

In  this  harvest,  words  of  simple  truth 
will  show  their  marvelous  power  to  pro- 
duce a  confidence,  spontaneous,  and  re- 
freshing as  the  dew !    One  would  think 


138 


such  gfolden  gfrafn,  like  the  seeds  found 
buried  for  ages  in  the  dark  warmth  of 
the  pyramids  of  Egfypt,  could  best  con- 
serve its  vitality  in  the  deep  recesses  where, 
excluded  from  the  light  of  day,  it  drew  its 
life  from  that  other  element  of  growth, 
warmth,— the  warmth  of  the  heart  in 
which  it  lay  so  long ;  but,  the  element  of 
growth,  light,  being  missing,  the  life  of 
the  grain  was  dormant,— yes,  dormant,— 
in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  heart,  until  in  a 
moment  of  grace  which,  in  a  crisis,  comes 
to  the  aid  of  nature— in  a  moment  of  in- 
spired confidence,— a  man  reaches  down 
into  these  caverns  of  silence,  and  from  its 
hiding  place  draws  forth  the  torpid  germ 
into  the  light  I—dind  then, 

**  There  rises  an  unspeakable  desire 

A  longing  to  inquire 

Into  the  mystery  of  this  heart  "which  beats 

So  wild,  so  deep  in  us— to  know"; 

and, 

**A  man  becomes  aware  of  his  life's  flow 
And  hears  its  v/inding  murmur,  and  he  sees 

The  mea.do<ws  'where  it  glides,  the  sun,  the  breeze. ' ' 

If,  then,  greater  joy  no  man  hath  than 
to  open  his  heart  and  let  the  full  light  of 
a  love  into  its  warm  recesses,  what  will  be 


139 


the  new  consecration  he  will  make  of  him- 
self? and  how  will  he  feel  under  this 
apocalypse  of  the  soul— its  wondrous  rev- 
elations ? 

If  life  were  religion  he  would  bow  down 
and  adore  forever !  Under  the  influence 
of  this  strange  apocalypse^  what  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  imagine  life^ 
—like  that  of  a  monarches  of  Israel,— gone 
back  on  its  dial  plate,— imagine  the  world 
remade  in  its  ordainment,— imagine  the 
will  untrammeled  and  that  man  could 
place  his  love,  without  reserve,  under  the 
rule  of  that  will,  no  hindrance  to  its  show- 
ing ever  new  unfoldings  of  lovers  wealth 
and  affluence ;  ready  to  undergo  any  test 
of  its  truth  and  fidelity ;  bent  on  gather- 
ing all  knowledge  and  in  concentrating 
every  joy ;  excluding  forever  every  image 
but  that  of  the  beloved  ?  What  more  nat- 
ural than  for  him  to  imagine  all  this  in 
his  new  life,  and  to  feel  the  air  perfumed, 
and  redolent  of  happiness  ? 

Natural,  and  possible,— for  though  life 
is  not  gone  back  on  its  dial  plate,  but  is 
going  forward  to  its  setting,  the  joy  of  it 
is,  that  unlike  the  days  that  had  marked 
by  the  sun,  and  measured,  perchance,  by 
some  rainbow  of  promise,  the  new  days 
mark  by  the  meridian  of  a  star^  whose 
light  falls  full  upon  the  wheel  that  is  come 
full  circle. 


140 


^*  All  that  I  know 
Of  a  certain  star 
Is,  it  can  throw 

(Like  the  angled  spar) 
Now^  a  dart  of  red, 

Now  a  dart  of  blue ; 
Till  my  friends  have  said 
They  would  fain  see,  too, 
My  star  that  dartles  the  red  and  the  blue  I 
Then  it  stops  Hke  a  bird?   like  a  flower,  hangs 

furled : 
They    must  solace    themselves  with  the  Saturn 

above  it. 
What  matter  to  me  if  their  star  is  a  world  ? 
Mine  has  opened  its  soul  to  me ;  therefore  I  love  it." 


141 


There  are  laws  which  take 
more  of  courage  to  obey  than 
of  foolhardiness  to  disobey. 


The  will  that  dares  to  dan- 
ger and  allows  an  appetizer 
without  imposing  a  penalty 
is  a  rare  one. 


142 


If  you  would  have  thirst 
obey  the  law,  don't  drive  de- 
sire dang:er-cIose  to  the  spark- 
ling: waters  of  temptation. 


143 


Watch  those  stagnate 
who  neither  make  an 
opportunity  nor  embrace 
a  chance. 


144 


EGRET  suggests  a  con- 
fession, — penance,— and 
close  in  the  wake  of  it 
''stalks  Remorse,^  that 
surly  enemy  of  sleep. 
But  there  is  no  sigh  for  ''the 
oblivion  of  sleep/*  when  wake- 
fulness calls  up  everything  to  joy 
over,  nothing  to  regret. 


145 


**  I  count  life  just  a  stuff 

To  try  the  soul's  strength  on,  educe  the  man : 

Who  keeps  one  end  in  view  makes  all  things  serve." 


146 


T  was  a  wild  day;  the  clouds,  like 
mountains  piled  upon  each  other, 
were  adrift  in  the  sky;  and  all  the 
air  was  filled  with  certain  and  un- 
certain sounds.  Throug;h  this,  and 
into  an  uncertainty  in  harmony 
with  wind  and  sound,  a  pilgfrim  went  in 
search  of  a  spot  he  had  once,  as  by  en- 
chantment, come  upon  in  a  forest  where 
the  hand  of  an  Ariadne  would  alone  make 
sure  of  safe  eg-ress.  In  that  forest  retreat 
he  had  seen,  as  in  a  mirror,  the  deep  life 
lineaments  which,  so  longf  held  in  bonds, 
he  believed  to  have  been  effaced :  but,  he 
had  there  seen  them  and  recognized  in 
them  his  true  self,  and  in  going  his  way 
he  had  not  ceased  to  wonder  nor  ceased  to 
be  moved  by  the  mysterious  power  of  the 
revelation.  Never  could  he  be  again  as 
if  he  had  not  looked  into  that  magic 
mirror,  for,  as  a  shadow  with  its  substance 
the  revelation  walked  by  him. 

The  inward  struggle  it  had  evoked  was 
passed,  but  he  would  find  the  place  again 
and  carry  away  from  it  some  such  me- 
mento as  is  tenderly  plucked  from  a  dear 
grave,  or  from  any  spot  endeared  by  a  sur- 
charge of  life.  His  intent  was  to  find  the 
enchanted  path  at  the  forest's  edge  and  in 
it  trace  out  his  first  footprints;— so  he 


147 


crossed  the  grassy  slope,  edgfed  along  the 
highway  to  where  a  stream  skirted  past 
the  trees  of  the  great  forest  and  knew  that 
somewhere,  close  by,  was  the  entrance  to 
the  path  he  sought*  He  pushed  aside  the 
thick  undergrowth,  peered  into  the  wood- 
ed hillside;  but  no  opening  revealed  itself. 
The  tall  trees  and  thick  undergrowth  gave 
no  sign,  and  a  nervous,  rapid  beating  of 
his  heart  told  him  that  hope  and  fear  were 
in  full  conflict.  Then  he  plunged  into  the 
thicket  where  he  ran  over  mounds  and 
into  hollows  until  he  believed  some  pre- 
ternatural power  was  blinding  him,— then 
desperately  sought  the  open  again,  and 
with  that  impatience  which  accompanies 
a  baffled  search  followed  a  long  sweep  of 
open  hillside,  but  keeping  close  to  the 
wood  in  which  he  had  been  struggling. 
Now  he  loitered  about,  neither  sitting  nor 
standing  long  at  a  time ;  and,  like  Childe 
Roland,  he  carried  a  slug-horn  at  his  belt, 
and  "  dauntless  ^^  he  raised  it  to  his  lips 
and  blew. 

Back  from  the  deep  heart  of  the  forest 
came  a  clear  echo,  and  on  the  right,  in  the 
thicket's  break,  he  saw  the  path.  Strange, 
rapturous  memories  put  the  Ariadne  thread 
into  his  hand,  and  anon  he  stood  upon  the 
hallowed  ground  he  sought,  the  very  spot 
where  had  been  enacted  the  fateful  drama 
of  his  life. . . .  The  wind  swept  the  trce- 


148 


tops  in  one  great  symphony  of  sound;  and 
the  soul  of  the  man  was  responsive  to  every 
harmony  evoked,  for  there  he  held, 

Bound  up  together  in  one  volume, 

What  through  the  universe  in  leaves  is  scattered ; 

Substance,  and  accident,  and  their  operations. 

All  interfused  together  in  such  wise 

That  what  I  speak  of  is  one  greai  light, 

A  flash  of  lightning,  wherein  came  its  wish. 

The  love  which  moves  the  sun 

and  all  the  stars." 


149 


ND  thy  nightingale,  when 
they  caogfht  and  caged  it, 
refused  to  sing?  Softly  didst 
thoo  onbar  the  cage,— thou 
heardest  the  foliage  rustle, 
and,  looking  through  the  moonlight 
thine  eyes  saw  that  it  had  found  its 
mate.  And  thou  didst  feel  that  the 
secret  of  its  music  was  the  presence 
of  a  thing  beloved/' 


150 


Let  all  else  go,  I  keep  — 
As  of  a  ruin  a  monolith  — 
Thus  much,  one  verse  of  five  words, 

each  a  boon  :— 
Arcadia,  night,  a  cloud.  Pan,  and  the  moon. 

Robert  Sr&wning. 


Lake  ComOf  morntng,  a  "viUa, 
Cupid  and  Psyche,  a  grove, 

ET  all  else  g;©,^— thos  much,  no 
more,  I  keep  of  all  the  languor- 
ous beauty  that  hung-  above  and 
around  the  shores  of  Italy^s  fair- 
est gem — Como— as  I  drifted  into 
its  resting  places  and  wandered 
through  its  groves.  Close  to  the  edge  of 
one  of  these,  up  at  a  villa,  I  came  upon 
that  incomparable  history  of  Love,  written 
by  the  hand  of  Canova,  along  the  lines  of 
finest  marble.  A  creation  of  surpassing 
loveliness,  this  history!  How  came  it, 
O  ye  gods  of  Olympus,  that  not  one  of 
you  did  create  such  as  this,  but  left  the 
immortal  task  to  mortal  hands?  And 
how  came  it,  O  ye  poets  of  Love,  ye  who 
have  sung  of  Jupiter,  Apollo,  and  the  rest, 
that  not  one  of  you  has  sung  of  the  beauty 
of  these,  in  this  perfectest  grouping  of 
Love's  god  and  goddess  ?  The  language 
of  Greece  would  alone  be  equal  to  a  har- 
monious rendering  of  the  rich^  flexible^ 


151 


overflowing  imagery  here  conveyed  in 
marble ;  and  Greek  art  being  a  strong  ele- 
ment in  each,  Goethe,  Shelley,  Browning, 
might  have  sung  fittingly  of  this  master 
work— Cupid  and  Psyche  in  the  embrace 
of  love  eternal.  For  the  love  here  por- 
trayed is  not  an  episode  of  existence  but 
the  life  actual,  full  and  free.  And  so  per- 
fect is  the  delineation  in  this  marble— 
warm  with  life,  and  a  kiss  the  symbol  of  it 
—that  one  is  made  to  feel  the  beauty  of 
the  mutual  inward  inhesion  of  two  souls 
when  under  the  masterful  influence  of 
love. 

Canova  chose  that  moment  in  which 
Psyche,— soul-beauty,— makes  convert 
of  (Amor,  long  time  knight-errant  holding 
free  range.  She  shows  the  god  of  Love  this 
beauty;  he  recognizes,- claims  it  for  his 
own.  There  is  neither  coyness  nor  con- 
test, not  a  trace  of  victor  or  vanquished,  as 
he  stoops  to  gather  this  love  to  his  soul; 
—nothing  but  the  simple,  natural  surren- 
der of  soul  to  soul,  as  instant  and  unre- 
served as  when  self  recognized  self  in  par- 
adise.    Thenceforth  one  life. 

What  an  atmosphere  was  this,  that 
made  of  the  somber  walls  of  the  old  villa 
a  gray  splendor !  Outside  all  was  a  green 
splendor.  Life,  green  and  fragrant :  a  life 
of  which  that  life,  **  in  a  love,'^  is  part. 
...  I  wandered  over  the  dew-pearled  grass 


152 


towards  the  grove  with  its  embowering 
leaves.  Footsteps,  light  as  the  air  that  set 
the  leaves  in  motion,  followed.  I  dare 
not  turn.  Had  nature  wooed  them  into 
their  own  sweet  element  ?  and  were  they 
roaming 

Through  the  grass, -through  the  grass, 

And  the  tangled  weeds  in  mass. 

And  the  wild  flowers  nodding  as  they  pass  I 

Hear  them  whisper,  -  moming^s  bliss  I - 

See  them  seal  it  with  a  kiss  ! 

Without  which  their  heaven  they'd  miss. 

Bending  grass  and  tangled  weeds, - 
Laughing  flowers  that  drop  your  seeds, - 
Hear  their  vows  and  whispered  needs  :- 

Hear  their  vows: -and  interlace 
Leaf-like  wings -for  one  brief  space - 
And  sponsors  be  to  Love's  embrace. 

•"  Let  all  else  go,**  - 1  keep  these !  -  living 
in  that  love  which  dilates  and  endures:— 
crowned  with  perfect  beauty  and  perpet- 
ual youth! Lake  Como,- morning, 

—a  'villa,  —  Cupid  and  Psyche,— a  grove  I 


153 


HE  artistic  spirit  that  moves 
in  oor  century,  and  that  irre- 
sistibly impels  every  man 
whose  calling;  has  within  it 
any  of  the  higher  possibilities 
to  establish  between  it  and  his  spirit 
a  sacred  relationship,  has  brought  in- 
to existence  a  nobler  purpose,  a  pro- 
founder  sincerity,  a  larger  vitality, 
and  a  certain  mystic  charm  in  the 
whole  business  of  living/' 


154 


RYSTALLIZED  thought 
is  poetic,  because,  the 
substance  of  the  thingf 
thougfht  of  having:  fallen 
away,  the  soul  of  it  only- 
remains  ;  and  this  the  poet,  when 
his  inspiration  is  the  truest,  uses. 


HEN  we  consider  what 
life  would  be  without 
separation  from  that 
we  love  best  in  the 
world,  then  are  we 
discontent :  but  when  we  remem- 
ber what  life  ivas^  before  we  had 
any  share  in  the  best  toDed^  then 
are  we  content  indeed. 


166 


Vampires  are  not  respecters  of 
time  or  place,  and  being;  good 
sailors,  are  always  ^*on  the 
bridge  ^^  keeping  an  outlook  for 
haunts,  sacred. 


Note.  —Be  quick  to  recognize  these  and 
deny  them  the  place  of  familiars,  if  you 
would  maintain  the  haunt's  sacredness. 


157 


LE  JUSTE  MILIEU. 


I^t  not  the  sun  rise  on  thy  confiicncc 
nor  go  down  upon  thine  anger :  forgive- 
ness thou  owest  to  thine  enemy,  remem- 
brance to  thyself.— Cb//on. 


158 


OD  invests  every  soul  with  certain 
rights  its  own,— nobody  e\sc%— 
and  that  amiability  which  al- 
lows these  to  be  appropriated  by 
another  is  as  reprehensible  as  is 
vandalism  of  the  appropriator.  A 
higfher  law  is  obeyed  in  gfuarding;  these 
ri§:hts  than  in  indulging  the  demands  of 
the  selfish  in  such  vandalism.  Some  one 
has  put  the  matter  in  this  delightful  epi- 
gram :  **  Yes,  be  kind,  be  generous,  but  do 
not  allow  yourself  to  be  melted  down  for 
the  benefit  of  the  tallow  trade/^ 


169 


HE  world  goes  astray  on  the  sub- 
ject of  rights  and  duties^  giving, 
in  its  autocratic  way,  precedence 
to  right,  whereas  sound  philoso- 
phy reverses  the  order,  gives  duty 
the  first  place;  because, duty  is 
prior  to  right  in  that  it  exists  independent 
of  right  and  limits  right.  Madam  Guizot 
writes  in  one  of  her  interesting  letters, 
"The  idea  of  duty  must  precede  that  of 
right  as  cause  must  precede  effect.  There 
are  rights  because  there  are  duties,  not 
duties  because  there  are  rights :  just  as 
there  is  society  because  there  are  men,  not 
men  because  there  is  society.  All  social 
rights  that  derive  from  our  nature,  as  man, 
are  possessed  by  us  in  virtue  of  duties  im- 
posed upon  us  and  upon  other  men,  our 
equals.*'  And  then  she  proceeds  to  illus- 
trate the  truth  of  this  philosophy  in  that 
simple  way  that  "he  who  runs  may  read.'' 
'^  A  father  has  the  right  of  obedience  from 
his  son  as  long  as  obedience  is  a  duty  for 
the  son :  when  that  duty  ceases  the  right 
no  longer  exists:  yet  the  nature  of  the 
father  remains  unchanged;  the  change  is 
in  the  son,  there  being  no  longer  in  him 
that  which  created  in  the  father  a  right 
over  him— that  is,  no  longer  the  duty  of 
obedience.  And  so,  in  society  of  every 
sort,  right  supposes  duty;  and  the  author- 
ity of  all  law  is  founded  on  the  duty  to 


160 


obey/'  Despite  the  harsh  features  and 
exacting-  ways  of  duty,  as  it  appears  at 
an  age  when  inexperience  and  willfulness 
are  at  war  with  the  powers  that  be,  seek- 
ing; to  reverse  the  order  of  their  ruling-; 
these  laws,  in  the  long:  run^  never  fail  to 
impress  the  inexperienced  or  lawless  with 
the  gfentleness  as  well  as  the  forcefulness 
of  their  features.  The  wheel  turns  untir- 
ingly on,  the  inexperienced  of  yesterday 
are  the  experienced  of  today;  duty  is 
supreme,  and  justice  tempered  with  love  is 
meted  out  to  right. 


161 


HE  nobler  faculties  are  not 
much  employed  m  the  so- 
called  everyday  affairs^  and 
not  because  we  find  them  too 
gfood.  Why  then  ?  Possibly 
because  we  believe  there  to  be  a  fit- 
ness in  the  employment  of  something 
less  than  the  noblest  in  affairs  of  a 
common  sort ;  possibly  because  we 
never  outgrow  that  kind  of  childish- 
ness which  demands  compliment  for 
doing  well  and  feels  pique  at  the  ab- 
sence of  it:— possibly. 


162 


IVE  that  better  charity 
than  yottr  purse^— your 
hand,— and  lift  some 
wayfarer  to  where  he 
may  see,  however  far 
they  be,  the  mountains  of  prom- 
ise, that  in  good  time  he  may 
walk  thitherward  by  way  of  the 
sweet  valleys  of  realization. 


163 


LANT  each  cross  and 
leave  it  at  the  mile's  end 
for  which  it  was  intend- 
ed; the  waiting  ones 
need  in  turn  thy  shoul- 
ders. Brace  thy  shoulders^  bear 
each  cross  with  like  readiness  to 
its  destined  place^  and  life  will  be 
cheated  of  thee  among  its  sacri- 
ficed. 


164 


HE  heart  feels  an  undefined 
satisfaction,  a  certain  sub- 
liming; of  its  nature,  in  hear- 
ing; a  g:ood  and  well-deserved 
compliment  spoken  in  its  ear. 
And  when  this  satisfaction  ties  to- 
gether the  ends  of  that  fine  cord  on 
which  we  have  strung  the  iridescent 
pearls  of  feeling,  well  may  we  ex- 
claim, **Is  this  necklace  indeed  ours!'' 


165 


HE  charm  of  a  corre- 
spondence consists 
in  its  being;  of  a 
character  interest- 
ing in  itself;  no 
need  of  introducing  third 
persons  or  the  gossip  of  them. 


166 


HERE  IS  a  time-established 
belief  that  whatever  the  sub- 
ject of  a  woman's  letter^  the 
gist  of  it  is  to  be  found  at 
the  end,  done  up  in  a  post- 
script or  sent  trailing^  along  the  page's 
margin.  Which  method— one  half 
the  world  being  partial  to  postscripts 
about  the  other  half— ought  to  be 
most  popular,  and  is ;  since  with  the 
letter  finished,  it  is  with  a  delicious 
alertness  that  the  marginal  pursuit 
begins,  up  and  down,  in  and  out, 
around  corners,  until  in  "full  cry''  the 
scent  of  the  racy  thought,  or  news  ex- 
traordinaire, is  come  upon*  Delight- 
ful !  Long  life  and  health  to  sports- 
men of  every  genre. 


Dear  S h. 

Since  that  day  on  which  old  Master 
Maitland  pitted  us  a§fainst  each  other  for 
the  best  essay  to  be  written  on  the  proverb 
—and  very  apparent  truth— **God  made  the 
country;  man  made  the  town/^  and  we 
agfreed  to  return  him  blank  papers^  I  have 
always  been  proud  of  the  courage  we  evi- 
denced in  declining  to  attempt  an  essay 
on  a.  fad  that  is  done  and  finished  all  in 
one  line,- no  argument  about  it.  But  now 
that  I  am  come  down  from  our  hill  coun- 
try, from  the  God-made  of  our  boyhood, 
into  the  man-made  of  our  dreams  and  de- 
sires, I  have  not  the  courage  to  send  you 
blank  paper,  which  will  go  to  prove  an- 
other fact— that  '*We  change  our  skies, 
but  not  our  minds/^  The  sweet  truth  of 
that  will  be  accepted  unchallenged  by  you, 
dear  S— — ,  which  would  not  be  its  happy 
luck  had  I  proclaimed  it  to  my  neighbor 
here.  I  am  in  the  man-made  now,  where 
my  neighbor  delights  in  raising  the  most 
complex  questions  from  very  simplest 
truths;  and  when  he  has  evolved  there- 
from a  ten-storied  argument  and  con- 
vinced himself  (because  of  my  silent  at- 
tention) that  I  would  make  the  best  of 
tenants  for  the  tenth  floor  of  his  great 
brick  apartment  house  (*^so  apprecia- 
tive^—of  his  ten-storied  theories),  I  bow 
mc  out  through  his  big  doorways,  or  slip 


168 


me  down  his  fire  escapes,  anyway,  any- 
how, so  that  I  get  away  to  the  God-made, 
—out  into  the  "fields  all  tied  up  nosegay- 
like with  hedges,^  And  if  it  be  May  in 
England,  these  hedges  will  be  rollicking 
with  bloom  and  the  fields  laughing  with 
flowers,  and  all  together  they  will  be  as 
fresh  and  as  full  of  sweet  sounds  as  was 
the  old  cathedral,  in  the  close  near  by,  ten 
centuries  ago. 

Or,  if  these  fields  be  in  France,  in  Ger- 
many, in  Italy,  they  will  be  ramparted 
with  tall  poplars,  silken-leaved  lindens, 
soft  gray  olives;  and  under  cover  of  kneel- 
ing willows,  streams  will  be  whispering 
sylvan  secrets  to  the  listening  banks,  and 
all  will  be  as  fresh  and  joyous  as  young  life 
in  the  new-made  town,— new-made,  ten 
centuries  ago.  Or,  if  these  fields  be  the 
inheritance  of  the  Arab,  the  Nile  will 
come  pulsing  through  their  sphinx-like 
silence ;  keeping  the  life-throb  in  the  old 
Land^s  breast,  and  the  shimmering  radi- 
ance of  the  sun  in  its  afterglow  will  vivify 
the  yellow  waste  of  shifting  sand  and  over- 
lay with  gold  the  temples,— the  temples 
of  forty  centuries  ago. 

And  then  beyond  these  fields  and  be- 
yond all  centuries  are  the  hilts,— *X\\c  cvct- 
lasting  hills'^— that  come  down  in  all  the 
witchery  of  fern  and  vine  and  glinting 
leaves  into  the  very  lap  of  the  time-scarred 


169 


towns,  while  the  greater  mountains,  like 
to  a  stampede  of  wild  horses,  break  away, 
crowding  upon  each  other,  climbing, 
climbing,— until  in  the  upper  air  they  toss 
foam-white  clouds  from  side  and  flank 
of  them  and  shake  out  manes  of  eternal 
beauty  against  the  blue  of  heaven. 

And  so,  dear  S ,in  every  land,  under 

cross  or  crescent.  Nature  bids  her  wor- 
shipers to  her  fresh,  new-made  Meccas 
and  sends  them  on  their  way  again  wear- 
ing, like  a  crown,  the  green  turban  of  the 
devout,  by  which,  when  I  am  come  back 
to  the  hill  country,  you  will  know  me  for 
a  true  Moslem  of  the  God-made,  for 

High  on  the  mountain's  steepest  rock, 
Or  low  by  a  shrine  at  the  base, 
I  see  as  I  look  to  the  shrine,  or  the  top,  — 
Forever,  and  always  God's  face  1 


170 


ACH  day's  attainment 
finds  the  earnest  climber 
as  g;rateful  for  the  cool- 
in  gf  moss  into  which  he 
presses  his  tired  feet  as 
will  the  last  attainment  of  all, 
since  each  in  turn  is  **  dared  and 
done/' 


171 


''AS  BY  FIRE/^ 


O  arrive  at  the  determination  to 
do  is  said  to  be  half  the  battle 
—the  lesser  half,  if  the  thing  to 
be  done  is  the  crucial  one  of  de- 
stroying loved  and  valued  letters 
—  and  it  is  only  in  obedience  to 
the  law  of  expediency  that  such  determi- 
nation is  arrived  at.  For,  what  says  the  taiv 
on  this  most  interesting  subject  ?  ^*  Manu- 
script, to  which  belong  letters  personal 
that  are  worth  valuing,  is  heritable  prop- 
erty and  can  be  given  a  commercial  val- 
ue/* A  commercial  value ! 

Such  the  law,  and  such  the  penalty. 
The  alternative,  the  crucial  one  of  saving, 
''as  by  fire,**  the  beloved  children  of  a  dear 
pen.  Beloved  children  !  Niobe  plead  with 
Apollo  to  spare  one  at  least  of  her  dear 
children— "Leave  me  but  the  least  of 
them  **:— but  the  god  was  inexorable ;  all 
the  fair  forms  that  had  from  their  birth 
grown  nearer  and  dearer  to  Niobe*s 
heart  were  doomed  to  perish. 

A  relentless  law,  whether  it  be  of  hate 
or  expediency,  is  resultant  in  loss  to  every 
Niobean  heart ;  as,  witness  letters,— dear 
in  their  personality  and  valued  because 
they  are  the  fairest  children  of  a  heart 
and  brain  beloved.    In  the  name  of  the 


172 


love  that  bore  them  and  of  the  love  they 
inspire,  we  plead  for  one— ^'unam'^— one 
only!— but  the  goddess,  that  untiringf 
huntress  Expediency,  has  decreed,  ana 
the  sacrifice  begins. 

Like  Niobe,  we  cling  in  turn  to  each, 
repossess  ourselves  of  each  beautiful  fea- 
ture, and,  despite  the  hearths  pleadings  for 
one,  ^*onty  one/'  s,cc  them  perish. 

Others  may  be  born  in  their  stead,  but 
the  loss  of  the  "  firstborn  ^^  has  passed 
into  the  sacred  page  as  among  the  most 
poignant  of  griefs. 


XPEDIENCY  has  a  gfravcr  sounds 
and  therefore  is,  possibly,  a  more 
dignified  title  to  gfive  to  the  serv- 
ice rendered  by  that  comely  little 
handmaid  Tact.  That  Principle 
can  do  without  the  services  of  either  is 
true,  for  she  does  not  take  them  into  her 
service  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding;  issues 
or  compromising  with  the  unprincipled ; 
but  Principle  **is  wise  unto  salvation/' 
and  to  that  end  recognizes  the  wisdom  of 
Expediency's  methods  and  employs  them 
in  the  adjustment  of  claims  that  conflict— 
an  adjustment  that  concedes  nothing  of 
principle. 


174 


HE  truth  in  its  true  form 
is  themightiestthingfon 
earth:  it  does  not  need 
eloquence  or  skill  or  pas- 
sion to  plead  its  claims; 
it  makes  way  for  itself^  rises  up- 
on mankind  as  the  unclouded 
sun  does  upon  the  earthy  and 
puts  the  world  under  the  sense  of 
its  glory  and  beneficent  power/^ 


175 


MY  LADY. 


AM  not  pleased  when,  in  a  crowd, 
I  have  my  attention  arrested  by  a 
face  wherein  I  see  a  likeness ;  the 
feeling;  comes  that  some  stranger 
is  travesting  my  friend.  But  when 
I  find  the  likeness  in  the  lines  of 
a  fine  portraiture,  on  the  pages  of  a  book, 
I  delight  me  with  a  recognition,  and  eager- 
ly run  my  finger  along  the  lines  to  make 
sure  that  this,  his  lady  of  yesterday,  is 
worthy  to  be  ancestress  of  my  lady  of  to- 
day. Along  these  lines  I  read  t— that  his 
had  **a,  gracefulness  overtopping  the  hu- 
man in  motion  and  in  word.'^  And  mine* 
That  his  had  "the  softness  of  temper 
becoming  a  lady,  with  the  personal  cour- 
age of  a  hero.''    And  mine. 

That  his  "spoke  with  a  voice  most 
agreeable;  plain,  simple  words,  never  hesi- 
tating.''   And  mine. 

That  his  was  '^little  versed  in  the  com- 
mon topics— scandal,  censure,  and  detrac- 
tion; that  these  formed  no  part  of  her 
conversation.  She  chose  men  rather  than 
women  for  companionship;  and  yet  she 
held  the  esteem  and  friendship  of  all— a 
thing  extraordinary,  since  so  much  knowl- 
edge, wit,  and  vivacity  in  a  woman  are 


176 


qualities  which  usually  create  envy  and 
its  ills/'    And  mine. 

That  his  had  **  honor,  truth,  liberality, 
modesty— adorning  virtues— and  such  her 
grace  of  manner  that  all  sorts  of  people 
were  at  their  best  in  her  presence.  To 
listen  without  distraction  or  indifference 
was  the  compliment  she  paid  to  the  speak- 
er/'   And  mine. 

That  his  "m  friendship  steadfast  and 
loyal  'was/' 

And  mine. 


177 


T  is  as  serious  an  indiscre- 
tion on  the  part  of  the 
woman  of  the  Occident 
to  drop  the  yasmack  of 
conventionality  as  for  her 
sister  of  the  Orient  to  let  fall  her 
beauty-enhancingfveil*  No  hasty 
readjustment  makes  the  indiscre- 
tion less  or  reestablishes,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  onlooker,  the  happy 
illusions.     Lovely  yasmack ! 


178 


ICTURES  there  are  which  so  hold 
the  lig-ht  within  them  that  nei- 
ther ray  of  sun  nor  that  of  fullest 
moon  is  needed  to  bring  out  the 
palest  tint.  These  pictures  hang: 
within  the  chancel  rails  of  life,  aglow  with 
richest  color,  yet  soft  and  dim  as  any  Ra- 
phaelite ;  and,  in  this  soft,  rich  glow  of 
cloistered  light,  draw  near  or  half  recede, 
just  as  memory  wakes  or  sleeps.  Or, 
mayhap,  these  pictures  start  into  very  life 
when  some  hope,  newborn,  fans  with  joy- 
ous wing  the  smoldering  fire  on  the  altar, 
close. 

Glowing  or  dim,  these  are  the  chancel 
pictures!  and,  if  one  is  more  beauteous 
than  another,  it  is  that  one  before  which 
we  sit  and  call  back  some  one  day  from 
out  the  days,  some  one  year  from  out  the 
years,— call  these  together,  a  fair  sister- 
hood, and  look  with  tenderness  and  pride 
upon  the  beauty  that  is  theirs!  Such 
beauteous  ones  hang  high,  high  within 

the  holy  place,  enshrined  indeed ! 

Pilgrims  fetch  offerings  to  the  shrines 
of  loved  and  worshiped  saints,  and  leave 
them  there  with  prayers,— sometimes  with 
tears. 


179 


ETAPHYSICS  might 
be  reckoned  a  species 
of  poetry,  dealingf  as 
it  does  with  the  ideal 
not  as  a  fiction  but  as 
a  real,— such,  in  fact,  as  the  sub- 
lime poets  make  it. 


180 


A  mind  filled  with  brigfht  fancies 
and  quick  imag^iningfs  easily  estab- 
lishes a  bon  camaraderie  between  the 
ideal  and  the  real. 


181 


HE  warm  heart  and  clear  brain 
of  Boyesen^  united  gave  the 
scarcely  to  be  gainsaid  testimony 
that  "  The  most  exquisite  happi- 
ness of  love  does  not  consist  in 
possession,  but  in  rapturous  an- 
ticipation and  aspiration.  The  winged 
pulse^  the  deep  stirrings  of  unutterable 
things^  the  ecstatic  flashes  of  sublime  in- 
sight^ all  that  glorious  tumult  of  soul 
that  tunes  us  up  and  makes  us  live  and 
thrill  in  every  fiber— that  is  the  sum  of 
human  felicity,  the  heavenly  fullness 
foreshadowed,  a  faint  recollection  and  an 
unmistakable  prophecy  of  the  immortality 
that  awaits  us/' 

The  marvel  is  not  that  such  joy  as  this, 
this  fullness  of  joy,  this  perfectest  sense  of 
feeling,  should  sublime  a  life,  but  that  a 
heart  unused  to  profuse  joy  could  contain 
such ;  nor  could  it,  were  this  joy  less  ethe- 
real than  the  spirit  which  it  pervades.  A 
life  thus  sublimed  may  wear  the  harness 
of  living ;  the  soul,  too,  may  be  strapped 
and  buckled  to  the  load :  but  this  thing 
which  the  eye  of  man  hath  not  seen, 
neither  hath  it  entered  into  the  under- 
standing of  man,— this  precious  thing,— 
creates  for  him  the  nem)  heaven  and  the  nem) 
earth. 

The  old  earth,  to  which  the  parable  of 
the  wine  that  must  be  put  into  new  bottles. 


applied,  is  done  away ;  and  in  its  place 
that  other  world  is  created  in  which  the 
soul  may  expand  in  endless  delight,  and 
through  which, 

**  With  the  richest  overflow 
Of  joy  that  ever  poured  from  heaven,  wc  go  our 
way*^ 

among  the  days  that  differ  one  from  the 
other  only  in  the  rich  variety  of  their 
joys,  and  all  of  them  coming  and  going 
as  did  those  fabled  beings  who  came  to 
earth  in  ethereal  light  and  movement— 
one  moment  naught  to  be  seen;  the  next, 
an  apparition  refulgent  with  light  divine! 


183 


BETROTHED. 


Breath  of  the  Rose 
And  Violet  blue 
Unto  each  other  pledged 

Love^  sw^eet  and  true,— 
Ranged  the  fields 

In  rapturous  bliss 
Lisping  vows  akin  to  this: 
^*  In  dreams  of  night  and  thoughts  by  day^ 
Nearer,  still  nearer,  'till,  in  heart  of  May, 
Grown  to  love's  stature,  we'll  love's  law  obey. 


184 


**Dans  te  marriage  it  y  a  tou jours  un  qui 
aime,  et  V autre  qui  se  taisse  aimer/' 


FRENCH  proverb  this,  the  law 
of  which  Amiel  disclaims  thus: 
^^To  surrender  what  is  most 
profound  and  mysterious  in 
one^s  beingf  and  personality  at 
any  price  less  than  that  of 
absolute  reciprocity  is  profanation.'^ 
Clearly,  Amiel  is  the  lawgiver,  the  prov- 
erb the  embodiment  of— shall  I  say,  a 
rute? 

Having  discovered  the  law  and  the 
rule  of  the  mysteriously  intricate  question, 
I  went  in  search  of  any  compliment  there 
might  be  attached  to  a  contract,— interest- 
ing in  itself,  independent  of  law  or  rule, 
and  my  first  authority  declared  that  there 
is  a  compliment  in  the  question,  **  the 
greatest  compliment  a  woman  can  pay  a 
man,  the  compliment  of  marrying  him/' 
My  second  authority  declared  this  to  be 
the  proverb— the  rule,  perad venture,  the 
law  having  been  given,  *^in  Paradise, 
before  the  fall,  where  Eve  was  offered  to 
Adam  for  his  acceptance.''  So,  it  may 
be,  that  among  the  momentous  results  of 
that  catastrophe,  there  was  a  reversal  of 
the  paradisiac  precedent,  and  thus  mat- 
rimonial compliments  are  now  the  pre- 


185 


fogative  of  woman  to  bestow.  At  all 
events  man  most  now  pay  court  to  her, 
and  only  under  her  scrutiny  and  approval 
does  he  pass  the  flaming:  portal  of  her 
paradise :  and  it  is  she  that  now  **  raises 
a  mortal  to  the  skies^^  making  him  ruler 
over  a  choice  part  of  creation^  rejoicing 
herself  in  being  the  first  of  his  subjects  I 

Next,  I  looked  up  some  philosophy  on 
the  subject,  which  reads,  ^^  Since  matri- 
mony supposes,  and  goes  so  far  as  to  re- 
quire, every  other  possible  union  to  exist 
antecedently  to  the  matrimonial  union, 
it  would  assuredly  be  a  great  compliment 
to  a  suitor  to  be  informed  that  he  pos- 
sesses qualities  in  full  accord  with  the 
living  pattern  of  his  aspirations!  Nothing 
now  is  needed  but  a  ceremony,  and  her 
compliment  is  advanced  to  a  complement 
—perfect  union !  ** 

The  law:— the  rule:— the  compliment: 
—the  philosophy:— and  Love  dares  to 
break  or  thwart  any  or  all  these ! 

Wisdom  should  have  been  born  twin 
to  Love,— and  the  first  born  of  the  two. 


186 


IVILIZATION  oftener 
refines  the  tortures  of 
the  soul  than  contrib- 
utes to  its  pleasures; 
and  yet  the  whole  world 
gives  its  best  soul-effort  to  the 
project  of  universal  civilization. 
That  bondmen  may  be  freed, 
freemen  must  be  bond.  Such  the 
law :—  and  who  gainsays  the  law  ? 


187 


ILENCE  means  so  much  more 
than  noise :  it  means  an  apprecia- 
tion too  fine  to  be  expressed,  a  feel- 
ing too  fine  to  be  demonstrated. 
Or,  when  a  serious  dissatisfaction 
or  a  cold  indifference  is  not  to  be  made 
apparent,  it  means  a  delicate  etiquette. 
Intuition  is  the  one  good  interpreter,  and 
the  pity  is  so  few  keep  her  in  employ. 
Her  services  count  for  little  if  called  on 
only  in  emergencies. 


m 


OLITUDE  and  Solitude! 
See  her  in  the  great  Sa- 
hara enthroned^  empress 
supreme,  a  forceful 
charmer,  to  whom  we 
make  obeisance  with  a  love  pro- 
found and  joyous.  See  her  in 
the  great  world,  tyrant  absolute, 
a  forceful  ruler  to  whom  we 
make  obeisance  with  a  love  pro- 
found in  its  pathos* 


189 


OMAN'S  solitude  is 
in  habitations^  in  the 
glare  and  flare  of 
everyday  life,  and 
her  contentment  is  in 
proportion  to  the  cheerfulness 
with  which  she  accepts  the  con- 
ditions. 


190 


COTERIE  of  little  fairies  built 
for  their  queen  a  palace ;  and» 
it  beingf  a  fairy  palace,  there 
was  no  fancy  too  illusive,  and 
none  that  escaped  embodiment 
in  this  marvelous  creation. 
Albeit  fairies  are  in  no  need  of  a  high- 
way over  which  to  convey  material,  these 
chose  to  select  their  building  site  no  long 
way  removed  from  a  good  highway,  and, 
while  not  ignoring  the  convenience  it  af- 
forded in  the  transportation  of  heavy 
materials,  considered  more  the  expediency 
of  having  their  queen  within  reach  of 
such  of  the  halt  and  blind  as  should  need 
to  seek  her  good  offices.  And  so,  not  in 
their  forest  demesne  but  on  the  edge  of  it, 
near  to  the  deep  waterways  and  the  gently 
flowing  streams  that  made  through  the 
forest  avenues  of  sparkling  brightness  and 
pretty  ways  of  bubbling  sweetness,  they 
built  the  palace  for  their  queen.  And  every 
fairy  of  them  being  an  architect,  the  pile 
when  finished  was  like  to  the  thing  mor- 
tals fashion  in  dreams. 

Within,— anterooms,  reception  rooms, 
audience  halls, banquet  halls, throne  room, 
grand  stairways,  all  tricked  out  with  fairy 
pomp  and  splendor ;  and  then  an  endless 
variety  of  quiet  corridors  and  tiny  stair- 
ways leading  to  broad  balconies  and  breezy 
belvederes;  and  above  all  these  floated. 


191 


from  innumerable  turrets,  the  royal  en- 
sign. 

When  the  band  of  architects  declared 
the  palace  finished,  their  queen  gave  com- 
mand that  every  ensign  be  set  afloat  and 
every  fairy  subject  in  the  kingdom  bidden 
to  a  seven  days'  merrymaking,  the  which 
to  close  with  a  fete  champetre,  and  that  at 
this  festival  she  would  confer  the  honor  of 
knighthood  on  the  several  architects. 

The  seven  days  of  merrymaking  end- 
ed, her  majesty  called  these,  her  now 
knighted  architects,  together  in  special 
audience,  and  submitteo  to  them  a  plan 
for  the  building  of  yet  another  turret. 
The  architects  listened ;  but  so  far  tran- 
scending the  others  was  this  one,  in  beauty 
of  conception,  that  each  architect  in  turn 
declared  it  to  be  a  fairy's  dream,  not  pos- 
sible to  construct. 

Enough.  Her  majesty  was  pleased  in- 
deed, and  gave  them  gracious  dismissal. 
Then,  as 

**  A  last  remains  of  sunset  dimly  burned 
O'er  the  fair  forests,  like  a  torch  flame  turned 
By  the  wind  back  upon  its  bearer's  hand, 
In  one  long  flare  of  crimson :  as  a  brand, 
The  woo£  beneath  lay  black," 

she  went  out  upon  a  balcony  that  over- 
hung the  crimson-tinted  forest.  From 
thence  it  was  an  easy  flight  to  the  far 


192 


eastern  angle  of  the  highest  of  the  bel- 
vederes. Standing  there  she  moved  her 
tiny  scepter  through  the  gathering  mists. 
Obedient,  other  mists,  soft  and  fine,  came 
up  from  the  far  valleys,  and  down  from 
the  upper  air  fell  the  blue  of  the  sky ;  and 
together  these,  in  a  mingling  ecstatic,  un- 
til, in  no  long  time,  a  shape,  a.  'vision, 
moved  along  the  lines  of  the  ^^fairy^s 
dream,''— moved,  until  it  was  revealed  in 
all  fullness:  and  the  little  queen  saFW, 
stepped  into,  and  'walked  through  her  OTvn 
created  mystery.     Mystery  I 

Now,  not  a  fairy  of  them,  her  majesty 
included,  knew  any  religion  but  that  of 
Love,  so  it  was  no  heresy  on  her  maj- 
esty's part  to  create  a  mysterious  temple 
in  mid-air  and  install  herself  priestess  at 
its  shrine.    At  its  shrine  I 

Sovereign  and  priestess  now,  she  saw 
how  the  noonday  sun  filtered  through 
the  golden  bloom  of  yeltoTV  roses,  and  the 
summer  breezes  turned  the  leaves  of  curi- 
ous leaf-missals  that  lay  scattered  about 
on  cushions  of  moss ;  saw  how  the  morn- 
ing's sun  kissed  the  <white  heather  until  a 
soft  blush  mantled  its  waxlike  cheeks,  how 
the  glow  of  the  evening's  sun  sent  the 
color  coursing,  like  lifeblood,  through  the 
spice-scented  carnations. 

But  listen, sovereign  Priestess, the  vesper 
bell  rings  I  and  the  fairy  angels  are  sing- 
ing: 


193 


Lo  I  these  are  his  altars,— great  god  of  Love  true,— 
And  here,  at  his  coining,  he'll  love's  vow  rene'w : 
For  when  he  is  come  from  the  wild  wair's  fray. 
Come  with  his  trophies  to  lay  here,  and  stay. 
He'll  sing  to  thee.  Priestess,  through  night  and 
through  day. 

Then,  he'll  kiss  the  sweet  hea.ther,  come  down  from 

the  hills 
With  odor  of  forest,  and  bracken  and  rills,— 
And  list  to  its  story  of  upland  and  glade,— 
Of  fairies  that  played  hide  and  seek,  in  its  shade, 
Or  in  heart  of  its  blossoms  their  gentle  vows  made. 

And,  he'U  kneel  to  the  golden  rose,— down  from  the 

skies,— 
And  hear  a  sweet  story,  that  with  his  own  vies,— 
Hear  e'en  how  a  mortal,  with  love  near  divine, 
Killed  once  a  fierce  dragon  and  saved  lady  fine ; 
Then  did  her  whole  palace  with  roses  entw^ine. 

Then,  last,  he  wiU  sing  of  the  glory  of  red!— 

With  perfume  of  spices  from  Araby's  bed. 

And  incense  uprising  through  evening's  rich  glow 

Or  falling  in  rhythm  to  whisperings  low,  — 

And  then  on  thee.  Priestess,  god-love  he'll  bestow ! 

Listen,  listen  on,  thou  sovereign  Priest- 
ess! The  vesper  bell  rings  on;  the  angels 
sing  on ;  and  thou  hast  heard  the  True  and 
the  BeauHfut— these  that  have  their  throne 
above  the  senses  and  that  are  not  appre- 
hended by  the  eye;— and  these  are  thine, 
for  thou  hast  here  enthroned  them— built 
to  them  these  altars  before  which  the 
angels  do  always  sing.    Listen! 


194 


HE  forces  and  the  melodies  of 
nature  do  their  best  work 
while  the  young;  soul  is  alive 
with  receptivity  and  the  ear 
is  in  devout  self-surrender. 
The  music  of  the  running-  brook^  the 
freshness  of  the  meadow,  the  solemn 
expanse  of  lake  and  sea,  the  gloom 
and  gfrandeur  of  valley  and  moun- 
tain, the  ineffable  outgoings  of  morn- 
ing and  evening,  the  sublime  pro- 
cession of  the  stars,  reach  the  heart 
from  the  first,  from  the  intellect  from 
its  earliest  awakening,  carry  into  the 
mental  life  from  its  birth  an  atmos- 
phere, a  color,  and  tone  and  power. 
The  fibers  of  man's  being  grow  finer 
and  less  perceptible  as  they  leave  the 
centers  behind;  and  they  reach  out 
to  infinity,  ramify  among  the  deepest 
mysteries  of  the  universe,  and  entwine 
themselves  with  the  God  who  speaks 
to  him  both  from  without  and  from 
within.'' 


195 


HAT  the  comeliness  of 
proportion  be  preserved^ 
Philosophy  ought  to  be 
in  constant  employ  as 
architect  to  the  Virtues ; 
since  it  does  happen  when  one 
among  them  gets  the  skyward 
tendency  the  others  are  left  to 
roof  themselves  in  as  best  they 
may.  Proportion  is  lost.  A  Sicil- 
ian proverb  puts  it,  **  To  pull  a 
good  oar,  the  five  fingers  must 
help  one  another/*  or,  "To  be 
pope  one  must  have  been  a  good 
sacristan.'' 


196 


O  be  the  possessor  of  a 
dominating;  will  is^  in 
the  formative  stages  of 
character,  dangerous  to 
its  possessor.  Its  achieve- 
ments flatter  self-esteem  until  the 
idea  obtains  that  the  mind  is  of 
an  all-around  superior  quality, 
which  so  tickles  vanity  that  it 
grasps  the  helm,  and  so  weak- 
ness sits  in  the  place  of  strength. 


197 


EAKNESS  takes  no 
hand  in  bringing  the 
out-of-balance  into 
poise  — a  beautiful 
achievement;  and 
the  strength  required  to  bring 
contending  forces  into  harmony 
being  a  masculine  quality t  the 
possessor  of  it  has  good  reason 
to  rejoice. 


198 


HE  best  quality  of  love 
is  autocratic  in  feeling, 
democratic  in  action,— 
giving  royally  and  in 
simplest  fashion.  Then, 
any  proof  of  love  should  be 
enough,— and  would  be  if  we 
did  but  abide  by  it ;  it  is  the  de- 
mand for  more,  more  proof  that 
ends,  in  no  long  time,  in  exac- 
tion. Love  loves  not  a  task- 
master. 


199 


EGULARITY  is  a  good 
disciplinarian,  holding 
well  in  hand  that  work 
which  can  only  be  car- 
ried by  regfular  siege; 
but  it  is  too  often  at  the  cost  of 
spontaneity,— mocks  sunshine 
and  laughter,— each  day's  ac- 
complishment ending  at  a  dead, 
monotonous  level* 


F  the  tremblingf  sound  in  my 
ears  was  once  of  the  marriag^e 
bell  which  began  my  happi- 
ness^ and  is  now  of  the  passings 
bell  which  ends  it,  the  differ- 
ence between  those  two  sounds  to  me 
cannot  be  counted  by  the  number  of 
concussions.  There  have  been  some 
curious  speculations  lately  as  to  the 
conveyance  of  mental  consciousness 
by  *  brain-waves/  What  does  it  mat- 
ter how  it  is  conveyed?  The  con- 
sciousness itself  is  not  a  wave.  It  may 
be  accompanied  here  or  there  by  any 
quantity  of  quivers  and  shakes,  up 
or  down,  of  anything  you  can  find 
in  the  universe  that  is  shakable— 
what  is  that  to  me?  My  friend  is 
dead,  and  my— according  to  modern 
views— vibratory  sorrow  is  not  one 
whit  less,  or  less  mysterious,  to  me, 
than  my  old  quiet  one*** 


201 


HEN  the  time  comes  to 
train  the  ivy  and  the  vine 
alongf  the  wall  where  roses 
were  wont  to  bloom^  have 
a  care  for  all  the  little  ten- 
drils ;  they  do  so  fill  with  green  the 
cromblingf  mortar^s  place. 


202 


N  Greek  and  in  Engflish  and 
in  Saxon  and  in  Hebrew  and 
in  every  articulate  tongue  of 
humanity,  the  *  spirit  of  man' 
truly  means  his  passion  and 
virtue,  and  is  stately  according  to 
the  height  of  his  conception,  and 
stable  according  to  the  measure  of 
his  endurance/' 


IVE  out  truly,  nobly,  bravely, 
wisely,  happily  your  human  life 
as  a  human  life :  not  as  a  super- 
natural life,  for  you  are  a  man, 
and  not  an  angfel ;  not  as  a  sen- 
sual life,  for  you  are  a  man,  and  not  a 
brute ;  not  as  a  wicked  life,  for  you  are  a 
man,  and  not  a  demon ;  not  as  a  frivolous 
life,  iFor  you  are  a  man,  and  not  an  in- 
sect. Live,  each  day,  the  true  life  of  a  man 
today :  not  yesterday's  life  only,  lest  you 
should  become  a  murmurer ;  not  tomor- 
row's life  only,  lest  you  become  a  vision- 
ary :  but  the  life  of  happy  yesterdays  and 
confident  tomorrows— the  life  of  today 
unwounded  by  the  Parthian  arrows  of 
yesterday  and  undarkened  by  the  possible 
cloudland  of  tomorrow*  Life  is  indeed  a 
mystery ;  but  it  was  God  Who  gave  it,  in 
a  world  "wrapped  round  with  sweet  air, 
and  bathed  in  sunshine  and  abounding: 
with  knowledge'':  and  a  ray  of  eternal 
light  falls  upon  it  even  here,  and  that  light 
shall  wholly  transfigure  it  beyond  the 
grave." 


204 


HAGRIN  forces  itself 
with  special  pain  when 
it  becomes  apparent 
that  there  is  so  much 
as  a  shade  of  reluctance 
in  acquiescence.  Spontaneity  is 
the  symbol  of  nearness  that  the 
heart  asks^  and  is  the  only  proof 
that  satisfies  it. 


AN  IDYL  OF  PHOTOGRAPHY, 


OME  one  has  said  a  very  pretty 
thingf  apropos  of  secingf  a  fine 
lady  all  alone  in  a  forest:  but 
who^  and  what  the  words? 
These  remain  a  crystallised 
thought  only.  Milton  consid- 
ered a  like  scene  not  unworthy  his  lordly 
verse ;  but  Comus  is  undoubtedly  the  one 
to  see  and  tell  of  the  **  foreign  wonder/* 
It  was  amid  woods  and  sylvan  scenes  I 
came  upon  such  a  picture— a  Comus  pic- 
ture—and such  an  one  as  pastoral  poets 
have  thought  fit  to  fix  in  undying  verse 
and  send— rare  specimens  that  they  are— 
down  the  stream  of  time. 

Nature  was  in  her  brilliant  autumn 
mood,  and  day  by  day  was  rendering 
some  new  part  of  her  symphony  of  color 
and  of  sound.  The  white  light  of  the 
summer  had  melted  into  a  yellow  soft- 
ness like  to  liquid  amber,  and  the  whir  of 
summer  sound  was 

**  Sliding  by  semitones, ...  to  the  minor.** 

It  was  in  the  very  midst  of  this  scene  of 
surpassing  beauty  that  I  came  upon  my 
tableau  'vi'vant,  the  central  figure  **  blithe 
and  itcc/*—ana  donna  perfettisstma^— a.nd 
by  the  unobtrusiveness  of  my  intrusion  I 


206 


was  permitted  to  watch  the  process  of 
imprisoning  the  sun's  rays  until  they  left 
behind^  in  guerdon  of  their  release,  a  pic- 
ture:—a  sort  of  forfeit-playing  this  with 
Apollo,  and  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
pastimes  of  a  shepherdess.  If  the  wind  blew 
ever  so  softly  there  was  alarm  lest  21ephyr, 
that  wayward,  mischievous  intruder, 
would  mar  the  handiwork,  and  a  very 
serious  mischance  indeed  this  to  a  fair  ex- 
pectant of  Apollo's  condescension.  But 
out  of  these  fears  I  took  joy,  since  every 
new  incident  made  for  me  a  picture,— not 
to  be  imprisoned,— the  one,  poetic  in  its 
singleness,— the  one  fit  for  a  pastoral  poet 
to  fix  in  his  undying  verse. 

The  atmosphere  was  suffused  through 
and  through  with  the  yellow  softness; 
the  semitones  of  sound  slipped  away  into 
the  silences;  and  all  the  while  pictures 
trooped  in  and  out  through  the  little  doors 
of  the  camera,— 

**  Her  fingers  let  them  softly  through,—" 

her  fingers  opened  and  shut  the  little 
doors,  imprisoned  and  set  free  the  yellow 
light  of  that  October  afternoon  until  the 
last  of  it  had  waned  and  the  evening  star 
shone  tremblingly  between  the  drifting 
clouds  to  say,  "The  day  is  done.'' 


207 


"Is  the  night  cold? 
Blows  the  northeast  across  the  naked  moor? 
I  have  a  warm,  warm  room :  come  in— 
Come  in !  and  Love  shall  lock  the  door. 

Is  the  night  dark  ? 
Drift  the  dull  clouds  down-dropping  winter  damp  ? 
I  have  a  secret  room :  come  in  — 
Come  in  I  and  Love  shall  light  the  lamp. 

Is  the  night  dumb 
Save  for  the  hoarse  wind's  cry  of  death  and  wrong  ? 
I  have  a  music  room:  come  in  — 
Come  in  1  and  Love  shall  make  a  song." 


SIMPLE  gift  may  suffice  to 
fill  great  gaps,  and  do  away 
with  emptiness.  Love  fixes 
the  gift's  value,  and  the 
heart  enshrines  it  where  to 

do  it  homage.    Last  in  gold-value, 

first  in  love. 


209 


SWEETHEART. 


"  There  is  a  little  bird  that  sings - 
'  Sweetheart  I ' 
I  know  not  what  his  name  may  be ! 
I  only  know  his  notes  please  me, 
As  loud  he  sings,  and  thus  sings  he  — 

*  Sweetheart  1 ' 

Fve  heard  him  sing  on  soft  spring  days  — 

'  Sweetheart  1 ' 
And  when  the  sky  was  dark  above, 
And  wintry  w^inds  had  stripped  the  grove, 
He  still  poured  forth  those  words  of  love— 

*  Sweetheart  I ' 

And  like  that  bird,  my  heart,  too,  sings  - 

*  Sweetheart  1 ' 

When  heaven  is  dark,  or  bright,  or  blue, 
"When  trees  are  bare,  or  leaves  are  new. 
It  thus  sings  on— and  sings  of  you— 

*  Sweetheart  1 ' 

"What  need  of  other  words  than  these— 

'Sweetheart?" 
K  I  should  sing  a  whole  year  long. 
My  love  would  not  be  shown  more  strong 
Than  by  this  short  and  simple  song  — 

'  S<weetheart ! 


And,  Sweetheart,  while  the  little  bird  has 
been  singing:,  thy  feet  have  been  climb- 
ingf  the  mountains  and  fording  the  rivers 
oflifel 


To  these  mountains*  heights  and  to 
these  fivers'  banks  I  have  called,  and  thy 
voice  has  answered  in  tones  resonant  as 
the  trumpet's,  aeolian  as  the  harp's.  I 
have  heard  it  in  the  night  wind  and  in 
the  noonday  breeze,  felt  it  like  a  breath 
among  the  odors  of  the  salt  sea  and  among 
the  perfume  of  the  flowers*  No  sound  so 
harsh  but  that  thou  hast  softened  it  be- 
fore it  reached  my  ear,  no  air  so  overladen 
that  thou  hast  not  unburdened  it.  And 
now,  in  answer  to  thy  call,  I  come  to 
thee  with  these  gatherings  of  my  hands, 
and  put  them  into  thine ;  these  visions  of 
my  eyes,  and  hold  them  close  to  thine ; 
these  voices  in  my  ears,  and  breathe  them 
into  thine ;  these  comrades  of  my  heart, 
and  proffer  them  to  thine ;  and  together 
make  them  over  to  thee,— a  gift !  yet  not 
a  gift,  since  from  the  first  they  were 
thine  I 

**  An  exquisite  touch 
Bides  in  the  birth  of  things :  no  aftertime  can  much 
Enhance  that  fine,  that  faint,  fugitive  first  of  alL^ 


So, 


"Come  back  with  me  to  the  first  of  all. 
Let  us  leam  and  love  it  over  again. 
Let  us  now  forget  and  now^  recall, 

Break  the  rosary  in  a  pearly  rain, 
And  gather  what  we  let  fall  I " 


G.  E.  X. 


211 


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